Call Me Dull, Will You?
by Sanded Silk
Summary: The cast of Harry Potter tackles the plotline of Pride and Prejudice. Dramione. The characters are sort of casted as the story goes, so hang with me. :REVISED:
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: So. The Harry Potter cast tackles the "Pride and Prejudice" plotline. What will happen! *dramatic gasp*

Hermione as Lizzy, and Draco as Mr. Darcy. The rest of the cast will go as my whims dictate, I guess. Definitely a bit of OC going on; Hermione's going to have to get more wittier, and Draco's going to have to get more…er, I dunno. Teddybear-esque, is the word?

And please keep in mind, I'm writing this first chapter during the ominous calm of spring break, after which will befall the storm of AP exams, college applications, independent project preparations, crazed Shakespeare Club scripting, and probably broken promises from my AP teachers. They promise a relatively chill rest-of-the-year, but I doubt.

The point is, after the launching of this chapter (and maybe a second?), there may not be any more to come for a looong time. So.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter, so help me.

-Sanded Silk-

* * *

><p>Hermione was altogether too busy to attend to any phone call. Additionally, she was one hundred percent sure she'd turned off her cell phone. Which was why, when the damn thing rang, she nearly dropped the boxes she was carrying, all jitters and curses.<p>

"What the—" Hermione put down the boxes on a nearby sterile counter and fumbled with her cell phone, flipping it open with shaking fingers.

"Hello? He—?"

"Hermione, got a second?"

Hermione sighed. "Padma, I'm really kind of in the middle of something—"

"Potter's coming to visit in three days."

"…What?"

"And he'll be just in time for the Wickersons' party, which he's agreed to attend."

"…What? Who?"

"More details to come! Later!" A click, and silence.

Hermione stood still for a moment, phone to ear, before snapping the phone shut and stuffing it back into her pocket. As she struggled to lift the boxes once again, she turned the news over in her mind.

Padma couldn't have meant…But there is only _one_ Potter…

Hermione set the boxes down on the unpacking counter and reached into one at random, beginning the tedious process of sorting the hundreds of bottles of medicine.

Harry Potter. A good friend of her father's, even though the two made a rather odd picture; while her father was a middle-class software engineer, Harry Potter was a first-class aeronautical engineer. The two were friends only because they both happened to bump into a common favorite professor at the exact same time at St. Peter's Basilica.

Recently, no one had seen much of Potter. Not even Hermione's father had known exactly what Potter had been up to. This sudden promise of appearance was surprising.

Maggie ducked her head in to check on Hermione. "Done yet? No? Step it up! We're about to close, and I do _not_ want to be welcomed tomorrow morning by these boxes."

"I'll be done in a few," Hermione promised. Maggie grunted, and disappeared around the doorframe.

-o-o-

"So," Hermione called to no one in particular, dropping her coat in a nearby chair and kicking off her muddy boots before trudging into the living room, "I take it I missed something while I was at the pharmacy?"

Everyone was crowded around a sofa, and there was a sort of collective hum emitting from the huddle. At the sound of Hermione's voice, every head snapped up, and every mouth opened.

"Hermione! There you are at last, dear—"

"Mione, get over here _now_—"

"Potter's appeared out of nowhere!"

"Well, actually, he hasn't _yet_, per se—"

"Oh, shut up."

Hermione searched the party of crazed people, and finally found the one face she could count on to stay calm in any circumstance.

"Cho! What's going on? What Padma said—"

Cho approached Hermione, nodding excitedly. "He just sent an e-mail to Dad, who's taken cover in his office, if you were wondering. He'll be here in three days, to check out a house he's thinking on buying."

"Potter?"

"None other."

Hermione glanced at the rest of her family, sans father, and sighed.

"Honestly, I don't know why Potter bothers sticking around. Considering he's practically our age, one must wonder why he's still talking with Dad, when he could be networking with all those other young entrepreneurs he's got hanging on to his legs."

"Even though he is practically our age, I still feel the urge to address him as 'Mr. Potter' when he's around. All that maturity, independence—"

"And _money_," Hermione interjected, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Yes, and all that money. You'd think he was Dad's age."

At that moment, Mr. Bertram peeked his head in. "Ah, Hermione. I thought I heard the front door open."

"Hey, Dad. So Potter's dropping by? After, what, three years of absolute silence?"

Her father straightened, sighing. "Looks like it. It's definitely from his e-mail address, although there's always the possibility that someone hacked his e-mail account and sent us the message just to spite us, for whatever reason." His voice was all gravity and sagacity, but his eyes twinkled.

"Ri-i-ight. So, he's going to be here to celebrate Libby Wickerson's one-year-old birthday? At least, that's what Padma said."

"He's agreed to attend, yes. He and the Wickersons are pretty good friends, anyway."

"Seems like he's good friends with everyone."

"Highly likely."

Mrs. Bertram had spotted her husband in the doorway and had crept up undetected, and pounced before Mr. Bertram could escape. "And wouldn't it be wonderful, dear, if our Cho were to catch Harry's eye?"

Cho's face turned red. "Mom, I'm very sure that Mr. Potter won't display any more interest in me than he has all these years."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, don't call him 'Mr. Potter.' It sounds so formal. Be sure to call him 'Harry' to his face. You know he prefers that anyway. And don't be ridiculous; it's been three years, and you've grown so. Anything could happen."

Hermione watched as Cho's face turned redder steadily, and hastened to change the topic. "So, Dad, did he mention why he was suddenly looking into houses in this area?"

Mr. Bertram welcomed the change in subject. "He didn't, and I didn't ask. Probably he's got too much money to keep in his bank accounts."

"Well, he can spend that money on me whenever he wants," Lavender said cheekily.

"Oh, sure, Lavender, he couldn't resist you."

"He doesn't stand a chance."

Lavender just beamed and skipped away, dragging Padma with her. Mrs. Bertram hurried after them, raising the issue of picking dresses and initiating a storm of dainty, flurried "Oh no!"s.

-o-o-

"I don't see him," Hermione remarked bluntly. Lavender and Padma were craning their necks around, looking for Harry Potter as well, but they weren't quite ready to resign to his absence yet.

Mrs. Bertram was concerned with other matters. "Where is Cho? I've called her twice now, but she hasn't answered!"

Hermione bit down on a smile. No doubt Cho had found a way to miss the party. Lucky girl.

"He must have decided to arrive fashionably late," Padma posited to a concerned Lavender.

Hermione shrugged wordlessly, and plunked down in a nearby chair. So far, the party hadn't really gotten kicked off yet, since the baby hadn't been spotted by any of the party-goers.

Mrs. Bertram turned her blustering attention to Hermione. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Hermione, why didn't you do something to that hair of yours? It's like a prison riot on your head."

"After years of battling with it, Mom, you think it would just fall limp and obey the hair straightener today of all days?"

"Well, you could have tied it back, or something…" She patted her hands uselessly about Hermione's head for a few moments before Hermione batted her mother's hands away. All it was accomplishing was attracting strange looks from people milling about nearby.

Just as Lavender, the most tenacious of the Potter fanclub, was about to give up, the entrance door of the rented room swung open, and in strode Harry Potter himself, all black moppy hair and abnormally green eyes, just as he had been three years ago. Flanking him were a taller, thinner young man with pale blond hair and slate-grey eyes, surveying the crowd suspiciously, and a short, shapely young woman with dark brown hair swinging gracefully to her shoulders, surveying the crowd with more haughty aloofness than suspicion.

Hermione and her father watched, embarrassed, as Mrs. Bertram, Lavender, and Padma rushed the newcomers at once.

"Mr. Po—Harry!" Mrs. Bertram exploded. "How wonderful it is to see you again! Is it true that you're looking into buying a house nearby?"

Hermione watched the unfortunate aeronautical engineer attend to Mrs. Bertram, and had to smile to herself. She looked away from the mop of black hair for a moment to survey his friends. The blindingly-blond young man continued to survey the room warily, before finding a patch of marble flooring to invest his interest in, and the young woman swept a lock of dark hair behind her ear and leaned over to whisper something to her blond companion. Hermione looked away, and saw someone she couldn't believe she'd missed before.

"Luna!" Oh blessed Luna Lovegood.

Luna looked up from her book, and smiled at Hermione, mouthing her name in greeting.

Hermione hopped out of her chair and hurried over to Luna. "Whatcha reading there?"

Luna flipped the book closed to let Hermione see the cover. "'Two Hundred and One Creatures of Hiberno-Saxon Lore.' The book that Daddy got me for Christmas."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "God. I don't understand you, Luna."

Luna's vacant smile returned to her face. "May be best that way," she whispered playfully, and returned to her book. Hermione was pleased to see her total lack of interest in the newcomers, and was content to read Luna's book over her shoulder for as long as the party dragged on.

Just as she was forcing herself to focus, the doors opened again, this time less forcefully. Hermione looked up, and saw her sister carefully stepping into the room. Hermione got up and barreled towards her sister before her mother could get there.

"Cho, you're dangerously—and not fashionably—late."

"I know." Cho sighed. "I was trying to avoid coming here, but it seems my plans were foiled. By Mom, moreover."

As if on cue, Mrs. Bertram barged into the scene, dragging Harry behind her. "And, Harry, you haven't forgotten my oldest daughter, have you?"

"No, of course not. Cho, wasn't it?"

Cho nodded yes, silent, carefully avoiding eye contact.

Harry managed to wrest his sleeve from Mrs. Bertram's grasp, and turned fully towards Cho—only to slacken slightly in composure and stare at her. For a moment, he was completely still; then, he was all smiles and handshakes.

"Cho, I haven't seen you in a long time, have I?"

"No, you haven't, Mr. Po…tter."

"Harry, please."

Cho smiled.

Hermione found herself being dragged away from the excitement by her mother. "Now, now, they need time together alone," Mrs. Bertram hissed, mainly to the clamoring Lavender and Padma.

After somehow making it back to Luna, Hermione tugged on her friend's arm and pointed at Cho.

"I saw," Luna said serenely, and turned a page. "Best of luck to your sister. He's quite the catch, you know."

Hermione tilted her head, scrutinizing Cho and Harry. "They make a nice picture."

Luna looked up slowly at the distant couple, and nodded, smiling. "You know what else would make a pretty picture?"

"My mom jumping in on the two?"

"…No. You and the young man Harry dragged here."

"What? Dragged…? Oh." Hermione scanned the room and found the platinum-blond young man leaning against the wall across the room, silent and watching, with the dark-haired woman still murmuring and grinning into his ear. He didn't seem to be listening to her as he turned his head slowly, as if judging everyone in the room. Before his eyes could meet hers, Hermione looked away, back to Luna.

"Haven't seen hair that glows in the dark since my cousin poured glow-in-the-dark dye in my shampoo two years ago," Luna remarked as she returned her gaze to her book.

"Ah yes, I remember that."

Luna looked up slowly at Hermione, grinning. "He's staring at you."

"What?" Hermione couldn't control herself; she snapped her head up, and found herself locking gazes with the blond stranger. As soon as she looked his way, his eyes wandered off.

"Go on, give him a shot," Luna said. "He looks almost as bored as you are."

Hermione smirked at Luna. "Oh, I'm sure he'd enjoy your company much more. You should try and engage him in a conversation about…what was it? Hiberno-Saxon creatures?"

"Of lore, yes. But I'm afraid he looks too dull to even know who the Hiberno-Saxons were."

"At least the two of you could talk about hair that glows in the dark."

As Luna and Hermione threw the stranger at each other playfully, Harry looked over to his companions and motioned them over.

Mrs. Bertram beckoned Hermione over as well. "Hermione, come here! Harry wants you to meet someone," she shouted across the room. Wincing at the slight dip in the noise level of the room as people turned to eye Mrs. Bertram, Hermione hopped up and threaded through the crowd to her mother as fast as she could.

"Everyone, I'd like to introduce two of my closest friends," Harry said when Hermione arrived. "This is Pansy, my sister, and Draco Malfoy, a close friend of mine. He's currently interning at a nearby hospital. Working for his Masters."

Pansy smiled an obviously-fake smile at the Bertrams. Draco kept his gaze as close to the ground as was reasonable. As Mrs. Bertram, Lavender, Padma, and Cho continued conversation with Harry after a beat of silence, Hermione was forced to turn to Draco and Pansy.

Hermione looked at Draco quizzically for a moment. He was being painfully quiet, looking at the ceiling. _The ceiling! _"So, Masters, eh? How far are you from completing the diploma?"

Draco took a moment to make sure she was talking to him. "I've been interning for about half a year now."

"I see. How's it going?"

"Well."

"I…see."

Pansy looked between the two, and smirked. "Draco's actually got quite a bit to be proud of," she oozed, taking his arm into both of her manicured hands. "Only twenty-one years old, and already on to graduate school—!"

Draco removed his arm from Pansy's grasp, nodded and mumbled something, and walked away.

Hermione, once safe by Luna's side, relayed the experience to Luna.

"I can't tell if he's too aloof to talk to us, or too shy," Hermione confided.

Luna peered above her book at the sulking doctor-to-be. "I wouldn't try guessing yet. Reciprocal determinism. You know, from Psych."

Hermione nodded, and, with a sigh, wrenched her eyes from Draco to Harry, who had managed to extricate both himself and Cho from everyone else at the party. As Hermione watched, Cho glanced around, saw Hermione, and quickly excused herself from Harry before crossing the room to Hermione.

"Escaped at last?" Hermione teased. Cho grinned as she approached, blushing.

"Hi Luna! He's actually very nice, Hermione. For an aeronautical engineer, he's got quite the free time. He can match my useless knowledge in art history, and we talked about the implications of the_ Arnolfini Wedding_ painting by Van Eyck."

Hermione stared at her sister. "Honestly? You couldn't find any other topic to talk about?"

"I would recommend starting a conversation on the creatures of Hiberno-Saxon lore next," Luna advised sagaciously.

Cho seemed to be taking the advice seriously. Hermione threw her hands into the air.

"How about finding more out about _him_? We haven't seen him in years, I'm sure he has some interesting stories to tell."

"You sound just like Mom."

"Ask him why he's back all of a sudden! You could divert Mom's attention from marrying the two of you with that info, if only for a few minutes."

"I'll try to worm that in somewhere. Oh, he's coming over! Quick, where's the bathroom?"

"But I thought you wanted to—"

"There it is! See you later!" And Cho was gone, a tornado of blushing flesh and flying hair.

Hermione and Luna blinked after her for a beat. Then, Hermione turned over to Luna. "Hey, you want me to get you a drink or anything? I need to walk around for a bit."

"Could you see if they have lemonade?"

"Sure," Hermione said, and got up from her chair to find the drinks table. As she spotted the table and walked over, someone started a thunderous chorus of "Awww!"s. Ladies around the room dropped what they were doing and rushed to the door, which had opened to reveal the one-year-old, impossibly adorable Libby Wickerson.

As little Libby's parents made a brief announcement to the room, thanking them for attending, Hermione grabbed a can of lemonade and was making her way back to Luna, passing around a column, when she heard Harry talking—not to Cho, but to Draco. Hermione screeched to a halt behind the column, scrunched herself up tight, and listened intently.

"Draco, you have got to loosen up. That's why I brought you here in the first place. Look at you! You've lost at least twenty pounds since you started that internship."

"I'm fine, Harry. I did lose weight, yes, but not quite twenty pounds. And I wasn't expecting much else."

"Get off the wall and talk to someone already, besides Pansy. I know she's driving you nuts. Why don't you talk to one of the Bertram sisters?"

"They really are all adopted, then?"

"Every one of them. Mr. Bertram took them in from the hospital you're working at. They were born to severely impoverished families, and were put up for adoption. They're a better-functioning family than most, if you ask me."

"…"

"Really, Draco. Get out there and talk to someone. Hermione's nice, and extremely easy to talk to. She'll find something you can talk about."

"I'd really rather not, Harry. No one here really…ah, interests me. The company's been quite dull, as far as I can tell."

"You won't give Hermione a chance then?"

"No." Hermione frowned.

There was a pause.

"You should go back to Cho. You're wasting your time talking to me," Draco finally said.

"All right, then," Harry said, resigned. Hermione counted to thirteen—unable to make it to twenty—before peering around the column. Seeing no one, Hermione made it back to Luna, still seething.

"You know what Blondie called everyone here? Dull. He called everyone here _dull_. He called _me_ 'dull'!"

Luna sipped her lemonade slowly. "You personally?"

"Harry asked if he wanted to be introduced to me, and he said that no one in this room was interesting enough to be worth his time."

Luna nodded slowly. Even loose acquaintances of Hermione soon sensed her intense dislike for being slighted as "dull." "Don't get so worked up, Hermione. I don't think he's worth it."

"No, he's not. Nevertheless." Hermione sat down beside Luna, sighing angrily.

Luna closed her book and stared straight across the room. Hermione followed her gaze, and found herself staring at Draco.

"Still wondering whether he's shy or snotty?" Luna asked, staring at the platinum-blond evenly.

"No, not really," Hermione replied. "I wonder how he ever came into the good graces of our good friend Potter."

"Maybe he really isn't that snotty, then."

"Yeah, and maybe pigs actually fly."

Luna looked at Hermione for a moment, her gaze thoughtful, before picking up her book to continue reading.

-o-o-

Cho sat down on her bed hard, making the bed springs creak in protest.

"He was wonderful, Hermione. Absolutely wonderful. I wonder why I never talked to him before?"

Hermione smiled at her sister with difficulty. Cho saw right away.

"Hermione? Something wrong?"

"We-ell," Hermione said, sitting down by her sister, "Potter's good friend Malfoy didn't take to all of us so nicely."

"What? What did he say?"

"He called everyone there dull."

Cho sighed. "Honestly, Hermione, you take everything so personally—"

"No no, hear me out. When Potter recommended my company to Malfoy, Malfoy refused. He specifically refused to talk to _me_. He said that everyone in the room was dull."

"…Oh."

Hermione glared at the wall across from her bed.

"Well, then," Cho said, "I guess you just have to learn to not take everything to heart so much."

"I just can't bear it when someone makes a presumption about my intellect before we have even looked directly at each other, much less spoken to each other."

"So what? He may be a medical genius, but it seems to me he hasn't a shred of social genius. Not like Harry."

"So, everything went well with Harry?"

"Mom thinks so."

"Do _you_ think so?"

"I…" Cho shrugged, biting her lip to suppress a blush. "I think so too."

"Did he give any hint of coming to visit us later on?"

"Not explicitly, no."

"Good. Otherwise he'd be dragging along that _Malfoy_. God, even his last name screams 'reclusive snothead.'"

"Aw, Hermione, he can't be all that bad. No one is."

"You and your optimism about people," Hermione sighed. "How can you think so well of the world? Anyway, I'm just going to go to bed now. Maybe I'll dream of publicly embarrassing Malfoy. Call me 'dull,' will you?"

"You go do that," Cho said, smiling. Hermione gave her sister a hug, and left the bedroom.

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><p><strong>AN**: Sorry to all HarryGinny fans, I just thought that making Ginny older than Hermione would require too much of a character twist-up. And since Cho wasn't such an important character, I decided that manipulating her into Jane Bennet wouldn't be as hard as forcing Ginny into that role. As for Padma, I had no particular reason putting her into the family; she was the first person I came up with, and I sort of just plunked her in.

Warning:: Ron may not be in the story at all. Sorry, all Ron-lovers. I just didn't think he'd fit as a Wickham, and making him Mr. Bingley would require a completely random pairing (RonCho? RonPadma? RonGinny?), since this was supposed to be a Dramione story to start off with, and he just didn't seem too much of a Mr. Collins, so…we'll see.

Madame Bigwig-whats-her-name, Wickham, Darcy's cousin, Georgiana, Mr. Collins—all yet to come! :D

REVIEW, PLEASE.

-Sanded Silk-


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Second chapter!

**Disclaimer**: Dunownuthin.

-Sanded Silk-

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><p>Reclusive snothead.<p>

Hermione smiled sleepily up at her ceiling the next morning. How perfect.

She was interrupted from her ponderings by a knock on the door. "Hermione? Are you awake? You've got to get to work in forty-five minutes, you know that, right?"

Hermione rolled over and grumbled into her pillow. "I'm coming, Mom." Eyes still half-closed, Hermione got up from her bed and groped around in her drawers for something to wear.

At breakfast, while Hermione struggled to inhale orange juice and pancakes simultaneously, Mrs. Bertram went on and on about how wonderfully the party had gone.—how wonderfully Cho and Harry had gotten along. _Good thing Cho isn't downstairs yet_, Hermione thought to herself. _Half of what Mom's saying must be made up._

The doorbell rang, and the girls looked up in a surreal haze. Up to this point, only Mrs. Bertram had been fully awake, relishing in her account of the party. "Whuzza?" Lavender mumbled.

Mr. Bertram looked around, before sighing and getting up. "I'll get it," he said.

A moment later, he walked back in unceremoniously, holding a folded sheet of paper. "For Cho," he said. Just in time, Cho tramped down the stairs.

"Hunh? Something for me?"

"What is wrong with all of you? It's already seven in the morning," Mr. Bertram sighed. "Yes, it's for you, Cho. Pansy—Harry's sister—stopped by just now. Said she didn't have time to stay and talk, but she wanted to give you this."

"What? Pansy?" Everyone but Hermione suddenly snapped to full wakefulness and clamored for the letter to be read. Cho held the letter above her head, shouting "Sit down!" repeatedly until everyone sat.

"Now then," Cho said, hair slightly tousled from the row. She opened the letter and read silently.

"Out loud!" Lavender demanded.

"…Oh." Cho's eyebrows drew up. "Pansy's invited me to lunch."

Collective squeal.

Cho's eyebrows slowly lowered. "It says Harry won't be there."

"Whaaat?"

Cho put down the letter and nodded a confirmation.

"Well, that doesn't make any sense," Mrs. Bertram pouted, indignant. "To invite Cho over, and then to mention, 'Oh, by the way, Harry won't be here, so don't get your hopes up'—"

"Now now, I'm sure that's not what she meant, dear."

Mrs. Bertram waved a hand impatiently at her husband. "Quickly now, Cho. Finish your breakfast, and the girls and I will help you find a dress to wear."

"A dress? But it's just lunch!"

"Lunch with Harry Potter's sister, yes. You can't go and make a terrible impression on the Potters, now, can you?"

"I'm sure Pansy wouldn't mind if I wore slacks, or even jeans—"

"Nonsense, Cho. Here, eat these pancakes. And this juice. Do you want an egg? No? Then let's get going. Come along, Lavender, Padma. Hermione, work starts in half an hour."

"I know, Mom."

"Will you need a ride, Cho?" Mr. Bertram offered.

"No, I should be fine," Cho called over her mother's head. "The address sounds familiar. In fact, I think it's within five minutes of Hermione's workplace, by foot."

Mr. Bertram nodded and leaned back to finish his juice.

-o-o-

Hermione was sorting through even more boxes of medicine when her cell phone rang.

"But I thought I turned you off," she groused. She stared at the number for a moment—it didn't look familiar—before flipping the phone open.

"Hello?"

"Hermione."

"Cho?"

"Yes, it's me."

"What's wrong? Is something wrong?"

"HERMIONE, ARE YOU ON THE PHONE?" came Maggie's voice.

"Just a sec. YES MAGGIE, IT'S MY SISTER! SHE'S, ER, TWISTED HER ANKLE, AND…ER…NEEDS ME TO PICK UP SOMETHING FOR IT!"

"Oh. ALL RIGHT!"

"Okay, I'm back. So what's up? Aren't you at Potter's house?"

"Yes. I twisted my ankle."

"…Whaat? But I made that up entirely!"

"Well, you were right on the dot, whether it's for better or for worse."

"What happened?"

"The stairs happened. Ah, my old enemy."

"Not the stairs!

They shared a moment of mock horror that ended in giggles.

"So do you want me to come and pick you up?" Hermione presently asked.

"No. I can't move an inch. It hurts to move my fingers."

"What? But I thought it was the ankle!"

"It might be more than a twist, I'm afraid."

"Oh, Cho."

"Harry's just come back, and he's insisting that I stay over at his house for at least tonight, so that I don't have to move about too much."

"Oh, _Cho_."

"Come on, you know it's not like that! He's being very insistent, though. He's even gotten Draco to back him up. I thought I'd call you and tell you."

"Does Mom know?"

"Not yet. I'm not sure I'll have any chance of refusing if I tell Mom."

"I think you should stay. And—wait, hear me out. And not for the sake of ensnaring Potter; you've got plenty of time for that. You really shouldn't move anywhere, Cho. Especially not if Malfoy says so."

"Ah, so you trust the reclusive snothead now."

"He's the doctor-to-be, not me. I'm just a lowly pharmacy employee."

"Aww, Hermione. You're going to be where he is before you realize it."

"I hope so. Medical school is _expensive_."

"I know. Listen, I'm going to need a change of clothes if I stay over. I'm about to call Mom, but honestly, I'd rather you be here. Pansy's a scary woman, let me tell you."

"Why? What's she done?"

"Well, she's—Oh, of course, Hermione, when you come over I'll show you the painting I'm talking about."

"What?"

"Yes, Fragonard's _The Swing_. I know you've always wanted to see it, and they've got a beautiful copy of it right in their guest room! Can you believe how lucky I am? Sorry, Pansy just dropped by to check on me."

"Ah."

"Well, she's basically made it very clear that I'm not welcome in _her_ household. Harry's implying otherwise, of course, but Pansy…"

"And Malfoy's just moping around in the background, no doubt."

"He writes a lot."

"Really?"

"And he likes to play cards. He wins a lot."

"Really? Against Potter?"

"Against everyone, it seems. I'm convinced Pansy wants to marry him."

"That's…not surprising. At all."

"You saw them together last night, too, then?"

"The way she clung to his arm? Yup."

"Anyway, I'm going to hang up now. I hope you can come soon—yup, Fragonard's _The Swing_. And it looks like they might have a copy of one of Bernini's sketches too!"

"All right, I hear you. I'll be right over. You'll need pajamas too, right?"

"And a replica of Michelangelo's statue of Moses for the tomb of Pope—"

Hermione hung up.

-o-o-

Hermione swung by her house to pick up a few articles of clothing, only to be mobbed by her mother.

"Hermione! Here, take these clothes. Such a wonderful sister. Do something to your hair!"

Hermione found herself struggling with a one-ton duffel bag and a comb attached to the end of a tenacious mother's arm.

"M-Mom, it's only a night!"

"I know. This might not be enough! Do you think it's enough?"

Hermione plopped the bag down and dug through the clothing. "She's only going to need, at most, three of these dresses—she doesn't even wear dresses!—probably only three of these jeans, then. And this shirt…some underwear..." To Mrs. Bertram's horror, Hermione flung out several articles of clothing before zipping the bag back up.

"Bye, Mom!" She called over her shoulder, before setting off on foot in her muddy boots.

"Hermione! Oh, that girl," Mrs. Bertram grumbled. "Left me to pick up all this clothing—at least change your shoes, you'll track mud all over Harry's carpets!" Mrs. Bertram yelled, but Hermione was already out of sight.

-o-o-

Draco and Pansy, in the drawing room, looked up as the doorbell clanged.

"Now who could that be?" Pansy wondered aloud as she catwalked to the door and opened it a crack. Standing there, windblown and covered in muddy snow, dressed carelessly in baggy jeans and her father's faded windbreaker, carrying an under-stuffed duffel bag, was Hermione, grinning unsurely.

"Hello? Um, is my sister—Cho—in—there?"

"Ah. You're her sister? Please, come in."

As Hermione stepped in, Draco appeared at the doorway of the front hall. Hermione looked up and stopped short. The air turned frosty.

"Oh my, how cold it is outside today! I just opened it for a moment…" Pansy glanced at the mud on Hermione's boots and made a face.

Hermione didn't notice. She struggled to keep accusation off her face as she nodded slowly to Draco, who nodded back. He glanced quickly at her clothes, her hair, and his face reflected—not disgust, to her surprise. What was that look on his face? Hermione found herself wondering. What was he thinking?

Then she caught herself. Clamping down on her thoughts, she turned away brusquely. "So. My sister?"

"She's upstairs, with my brother," Pansy said quickly, smiling.

Hermione looked at her for a moment, then kicked off her boots as carelessly as she could manage—take that, Pansy, Draco—and trudged for the staircase, duffel bag in tow.

As she mounted the stairs, she could hear Pansy.

"Did you see her hair? Even without the wind, it's atrociously untamable. And that mud! Harry won't be pleased to see his new carpets ruined so."

"I don't think he'll mind that much," Draco intoned. Their voices faded as they walked in the opposite direction, down the hall.

Hermione grinned to herself and walked on, duffel bag bouncing gracelessly against her calves.

Through a slightly-open door, Hermione could hear quiet talking. She opened the door slowly, and saw Cho sitting in a bed with her foot propped up, talking to Harry.

"Cho!" Hermione dropped her duffel bag and ran to her sister's side. Cho opened her arms, and the two hugged.

"I'll be next door, in the study," Harry said, smiling. "Just yell if you need anything."

After he'd gone, Hermione sat up, smiling. "So where's Fragonard's masterpiece?"

"Bluffs. Luckily, Pansy doesn't know her artists well enough to know that not one of Fragonard's paintings is in this house."

"Good to hear."

"Did she bother you when you came in?"

"Not outright, but she did cook up a storm when I came upstairs. Something about me tracking mud all over Potter's new carpets."

"Well done, Hermione. Though they _are_ Harry's carpets, after all."

"Whatever. So, how're they treating you?"

"Well, besides Pansy, they're pretty nice. Draco keeps his distance, though. So it's really just Harry I see around here."

"That's too bad. I'll stay all day, if you want?"

"Really? We'd have to ask Harry. But that would be a relief."

"We just need him to hear you say that, and he'll let me stay as long as you like."

"Hermione!"

-o-o-

"You're sure you won't stay for dinner, Hermione?" Harry asked again. Hermione shook her curls no.

"If I don't get home now, there's no telling how late dinner will be served back home. Thank you so much for caring for Cho. She's more comfortable here than she ever will be at our house."

"It's not a problem at all. She really knows her art history."

"Ah yes." The two exchanged pleasant smiles, and Hermione turned to bid the other two hosts good-bye.

"Thank you so much, Pansy, for dealing with the mud I tracked all over the carpets. And thank _you_, Draco, for your medical advice."

Pansy smiled, tilting her head, and Draco seemed to want to say something.

"You're sure you won't stay?" Draco finally asked. "It's already very dark out there. Besides, I'm sure Cho would appreciate it if you could stay."

"No, I'd rather not burden you all any more than I already have."

"Then allow me to walk you home?"

Hermione's boot was about to hit the snow outside when it stopped cold. She turned her head to survey Draco, who met her gaze evenly, emotionlessly.

"That…won't be necessary."

"She's right, it isn't," Pansy put in.

"Would you rather one of us drive you home, then? Anything? Draco's right; it really is getting dark out there. It could be dangerous, a lone young lady walking home," Harry put in.

Hermione smiled, not knowing what to say.

"Here, I'll go with you," Draco insisted. Before Hermione could think of an eloquent, subtly-offending way to refuse, he'd already slipped on his boots and a coat. Stepping out onto the front porch, he turned back to her, waiting.

"Uuh…" Hermione slowly stepped out into the snow.

"Say hello to you family for me, will you?" Harry called after her.

"Y...yeah."

There were other good-byes floating around her, and suddenly the door was closed. Hermione whirled around, nearly losing her footing, to stare at the closed door.

How…?

"So, which way?"

Hermione turned slowly back around to meet Draco's gaze.

"Left. Right."

"Which?"

"Right."

"Right then."

They walked, Hermione slightly ahead, in silence.

I'm walking home. Walking home with Malfoy. Being walked home by _Malfoy_. What does one say around the Malfoy? What does one do?

_Call me dull, will you?_

Hermione turned around, suddenly smiling, suddenly confident.

"So. What do you think of Worchester?"

"It's nice. I've only been here for half a year, but I'm thinking about staying."

Please no. "Really? Not the big-city type, then?"

"No, not really."

"What did you think of last night's party? I noticed you didn't talk much."

"I'm rather…reclusive."

Reclusive snothead. "I gathered. Your silence at the party the other day was positively unnerving, though. I can't imagine how anyone could keep to themselves at so large a party for as long as you did. Was something wrong last night?"

Draco didn't seem too taken aback by the poorly-veiled insult. "Well, as you surmised, I'm not the big-city type. Not one for conversation, crowds."

"Shame. If you hadn't noticed, many of the young ladies attending the party were eyeing you and hoping that you were pleasant."

"I noticed no such attention."

"You didn't notice? How rude."

Draco's face turned cold; Hermione could see this even under the dim street lights. It made her happy. Very happy.

"Oh come on," she wheedled, "I'm only joking. Can't you take a little teasing?"

"I'm not one for teasing."

"Pity. If you weren't so reserved, I'm sure you'd be linking arms with several of the young ladies from last night's party right now, instead of walking home with just little old me."

"…"

Hermione tilted her head at him for a second, considering. "You really aren't one for teasing, are you? That's really too bad. Because you would have laughed, and I'm sure that would have been pleasant for both of us."

Inside, Hermione sneered, but she was taken aback when Draco's hard expression softened a fraction at her comment. He looked at her quietly, and she found she couldn't withdraw her gaze.

Which was why she tripped over a block of unsmashed ice.

"Ah—" And she was falling over, headlong, fast.

Something caught her, knocking the breath out of her lungs. When she glanced up, she saw Draco's face hovering over hers.

"Oh. _Oh_." Hermione scrambled to her feet, disentangling herself from his steadying grip, and tilted her face so that her bushy hair hid her cheeks.

"Um. Thanks. For catching me," she bit out.

Draco didn't answer. The rest of the way was trod—carefully—in silence.

-o-o-

The next day, Hermione was able to avoid being bogged down by her sisters' and mother's questions by fleeing through the back door at six-thirty in the morning. Sighing as she patted the last of the backyard snow from her pants, she walked to a nearby coffee shop to order something for breakfast.

As she chewed on a cold croissant, she thought.

The banter—it had felt right. The catching—that had felt right too. Heck, even the fall felt right.

Hermione was instantly furious with herself. Had she already forgotten what he'd called her at the Wickersons' party? No, of course not. But maybe Luna was right? Maybe he wasn't snotty—just shy? Just as he'd claimed?

Hermione finished the croissant, and checked the clock. She had ten minutes to spare before work would demand her time and mind.

She'd promised Cho the other day—before the entire Malfoy-walking-her-home incident—that she'd visit again today, right after work. She didn't want to take back the promise, didn't want to miss seeing her sister—but she didn't want to see Malfoy. She suddenly felt a cold wave of anxiety wash over her. No. She definitely did _not_ want to see Malfoy.

But Cho. Stuck under the foot of _Pansy_.

Hermione shuddered. Whatever the consequences, she had to visit her sister.

-o-o-

Careful to keep her eyes in front of her, Hermione ran as fast as she could on the slippery sidewalk to Harry's house. She knocked on the door, still panting, and was welcomed by an 'Oh, it's you' look from Pansy.

"I'm h…here to visit my…sister."

"I see. Come in, come in."

Draco was in the hall when Hermione flipped her hair out of her face. A cold shiver ran down her back as their glances met, and although she was furious with herself for being so _weak_, she had to look away.

"Upstairs. I know." Hermione cut Pansy off and raced for the stairs, this time barely hearing what Pansy had to say about her disastrous appearance.

"Cho? Cho?"

"Oh, Hermione, you're here. Harry's next door, in the—what's wrong? Hermione?"

"Cho. I think I'm falling for…"

"What? Falling? For someone? Well, Hermione, this is great news, it's been so long since any guy—"

"For…" Hermione broke off, and lowered her voice conspiratorially. "For _Malfoy_," she whispered in horror.

"…Oh."

"Yeah."

"…_Oh_."

"_Yeah_."

"Well, this is…great news? I know he's very wealthy. Mom will be pleased."

"Cho, Cho, help me, please," Hermione pleaded in ragged whispers. "It's only been a day—heck, it's only been twelve hours—and I think I'm—I'm—"

"Hermione, you've liked people before. It's not a big deal."

"But it's—it's—_Malfoy_."

"I know. But I don't really see that much of a problem, do you? I know he walked you home last night. I know he offered in the first place, too. He's rather nice, don't you think?"

"He called—me _dull_."

"…Yes."

"Re—reclusive—_snothead_."

"…Yeah."

"How did it happen? Explain to me how this—is—"

"Well, what happened last night? I haven't seen him since yesterday afternoon, so I have no idea what's going on in his mind."

"I teased him, and I told him that it would be more fun it he was laughing instead of scowling and taking everything so seriously, but it came out sounding like—like—I was trying to _flirt_ or something—and he looked all soft all of a sudden—and I tripped over some rotten ice and he caught me and it felt—_right_. It felt right."

"Was he all haughty about it?"

"…No."

"Was it awkward?"

"_Yes_."

"Do you think he likes you?"

"I don't know! _I don't know!_"

"Calm down, Hermione. I think it's just your pride acting up."

"My—_pride_—?"

"Just let go of his comment last night, and see him for who he is."

"But I don't _know_ who he is! That's the whole problem! I have _no idea_ what to make of his calling me dull and his offering me to walk me home—"

"Hermione, you're turning red."

"What? Oh."

"_Really_ red."

"…Okay. Okay. What about now?"

"Looks better. Look, Hermione, you have got to calm down. When you think about it, it's not that big of a deal at all. If you do like him—well, spend more time with him, I guess. He is home right now, right? And if you don't like him, then stop thinking about his walking you home, his catching you. It's that simple."

"But I don't know if I like him or not. I don't know."

"Then for heaven's sake, what are you doing talking to me still? Get downstairs and talk to him. Get to know him. Sound familiar?"

Hermione gulped in a breath of air. Then another.

"All right. I'm—I'm—entering the fray."

"I'll be right here."

"Tha—Thanks, Cho. Knew I could count on you."

"You're welcome, you big sissy."

-o-o-

Sissy?

That was actually the perfect word to describe Hermione at the moment. She nodded to herself, affirming the thought. She was most definitely being a sissy.

She was stuck at the top of the stairs.

She knew he was downstairs, with Pansy. She could hear them—or rather, her—talking. About something he was writing. A letter? It didn't matter.

She'd left Cho's room in a rush of adrenaline-powered confidence, but now, it seemed as though her adrenaline had just poured out of her ears and evaporated into thin air.

"Cho?"

No answer. Of course. Cho couldn't hear her, with the door closed.

Hermione swallowed. Once. Twice. Counted to thirteen—come to think of it, she'd never been able to make it to twenty, anyway—and descended the stairs as if expecting them to collapse under her at any moment.

"He—he—"

She clamped her mouth shut, then tried again.

"He—llo? Hello?"

The talking stopped. Then: "Hermione? Is that you?" It was Pansy.

"Y—es. I was wondering where I could find—some—water?"

Stupid thing to ask for. She actually had to pee, but there was no turning back.

"Of course! The kitchen's right this way—"

"Actually, there's a pitcher of water and a cup right here," Draco interrupted. Hermione froze at the sound of his voice.

There was a long moment of silence.

"Hermione?" Pansy asked uncertainly.

"I'm here, sorry," Hermione said unsteadily. "I—uh—nearly tripped over my boots." She strengthened this statement with a nervous, high-pitched giggle.

"Oh. Need a hand?"

"No, I'm fine." Hermione slowly entered the door through which she was hearing the disembodied voices, and found herself in a lavishly-furnished room with ceiling-to-floor windows and curtains thrown back. At a desk on the other end of the room stood a desk, at which Draco was writing furiously, Pansy hanging over his shoulder. Both look up at Hermione's entrance.

"The pitcher's right here," Pansy said through her teeth, gesturing at her side.

"Thanks." By now, Hermione had gained a little more control over her voice, and crossed the room to her next challenge—to pour a cup of water without dropping the pitcher in her nervousness.

The water was poured, drunk. Challenge overcame. Next level—face Malfoy.

"What're you writing there, Dra—Malfoy?"

Draco looked down at the paper, away from her. "Letter to my sister."

"It's incredibly long, such a love-filled letter," Pansy oozed. "He very much loves his sister. Don't you, Draco? I love Ginny too. Such a wonderful little lady, and such an amazing pianist too! Such strong fingers! Such—"

"You have a sister?"

"Yes, Ginny."

"You write _letters_ to her? What about e-mail?"

"She's always liked the idea of writing letters. It has some sort of romantic appeal to her."

"That's—cute. Adorable."

"Yes."

The clock ticked innocently.

"Well," Pansy said, smiling brightly. "Anyone up for a game of cards?"

Draco bent his head, wrote a few more words, and signed his name on the bottom. "Sure," he said, folding the letter as he spoke. He rose from his chair, and Hermione wondered—for a moment—at how sharply defined his body was, clear-cut against the light streaming in through the window.

"Hermione?" Pansy asked, smiling.

To be honest, Hermione would much rather sit in a nearby loveseat, tuck her feet up on the cushions, her knees to her chest, and watch them play. Watch him play. But she knew better than to pursue that desire. "Sure."

The card game floated by, with mostly Pansy's commentary filling in the silence, and Hermione found herself weeded out of the game within minutes.

"Oh, pity," Pansy said, smiling sweetly. Draco made no comment. Hermione leaned back, hands empty, and pretended to watch the game.

Pansy proposed another game, which Hermione joined in on. It wasn't a long three-way battle—Pansy chose a bad hand, and was out. It was just Draco and Hermione. Just—

Hermione peeked up at Draco over her cards. He had his hands down on the table, and he was staring at his own cards intently. She lowered her eyes.

Just as the first game did, the second game floated by weightlessly, almost like in a dream. She lost to Draco. Putting down her cards, she stared at them, not hearing Pansy's cheering.

"Hermione?"

Hermione's head snapped up. "Yes?"

Draco's slate-grey eyes, luminous, were staring at her with concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. Why?"

"You're very pale. Do you need to lie down? Hermione?"

Hermione turned in her seat. "I think lying down—would—would be—g—"

Her head hit the pillow, and she heard nothing else afterwards.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Oooh, I'm straying from the plot! :O

So there's chapter the second. Please tell me what you think :D

Also, many thanks to **Hugo Purist** for your review (love your name, by the way), which was submitted only moments after I posted the first chapter. Everyone, I think you should learn from Hugo's example.

REVIEWS NOMNOMNOM.

-Sanded Silk-


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Aaand third chapter.

**Disclaimer**: Dunuthin.

-Sanded Silk-

* * *

><p>Hermione woke up with a start. "HUmn!" She sat up quickly, then melted back down with a groan. Her head was pounding.<p>

"Hermione? Can you hear me?"

Hermione mustered her voice. "Y—Yes. Yes."

"Are you okay?"

Hermione struggled to open her eyes. A face above her slowly came into focus. Draco's face.

She closed her eyes again.

"Don't black out again, Hermione."

"Ungh. Trying not to."

"You caught a cold. What were you thinking, wearing just a sweater in this weather?"

"Where'm I?"

"You're in Harry's living room, on the sofa."

Hermione's head was whirling. "Gotta call—Mom."

"I called your family. They're willing to let you rest here for as long as is necessary."

"Cho?"

"Still upstairs. She was sleeping when I went to tell her, so she doesn't know yet."

"I can—can go home."

"I'm not letting you."

Hermione forced her eyes open to glare at Draco.

Draco sighed. "You're in no position to move. At all."

Come to think of it, Hermione could barely budge her limbs. They felt like blocks of lifeless, cold-blasted stone.

"But with Cho here—I'm just—another burden."

"You have no choice."

"Can't tell me what to do."

"As a doctor in training, yes, I can. You do know that when you have a cold, you can't go outside, into the middle of winter, right?"

Hermione glared at Draco, but the effort was too exhausting. She closed her eyes, turned her face to the side. Moaned. Why hadn't she noticed that she was coming down with something before?

An ice pack was pressed gently into her forehead.

"Harry left to buy medicine, and Pansy's making soup. I'm going to see if I can tell Cho now." He left.

Hermione reached out a hand spasmodically. "Wait!" She blurted.

His receding footsteps stopped. "Hermione?"

"Wait."

"Yes?"

"Don't—go yet."

"Do you need something?"

Hermione's outstretched hand flopped down, limp. What was she doing? With all her strength, she pulled her mind together and forced herself to focus. Think. She could feel steam pouring out of her overheated ears.

"Nevermind. Sorry."

Draco was silent. Then, his footsteps receded further, went up the stairs, disappeared.

He was back soon. Or not soon. She couldn't tell how much time had gone by, couldn't tell whether she'd blacked out without knowing, or if she was just imagining the whole cursed situation.

"How are you feeling?"

She didn't answer.

"Hermione?"

"Mnh. Okay."

"That's a lie."

"Shu—dup."

"Do you need anything?"

Hermione was used to being told stories when she was sick, and her fever-flattened mind allowed no exception. "Tell me about—Ginny."

"…What?"

"Ginny. She anything—like you? Reclusive? Little-boy shy?"

Draco sat down by her on the ground. She couldn't open her eyes; even if she could, she knew she wouldn't be able to see clearly. She listened to her own rasping breath, unable to hear any signs of Draco's presence, waited.

"No, she's not shy at all. She's got red hair. She's seventeen. She's going to high school, but she doesn't know what to do with her life yet."

"She's good—at playing the piano."

"Yes."

"I'm hopeless—at it. Technique—always got me. What about you? Play anything?" Hermione couldn't stop her tongue. It tended to ramble while she was sick—while she was least able to control it.

"I used to play the piano. But like you, I don't have quite the fingers for it. I stuck to trumpet for awhile, but I stopped a few years ago."

An image of Draco struggling with a trumpet popped into her head, and Hermione stifled a laugh.

"What?"

"Nuh—Nothing."

"…Hermione."

"Nh."

"What you said about me being reserved. Is it really that painfully obvious?"

Hermione nodded, smiling gleefully. "Yah."

"Just keeping to myself—did it really look that bad?"

"Called us—dull, too."

She could hear his face pale. "You heard that?"

"Was behind—a column. Holding—lemonade—for Luna. She likes lemonade. Called me dull."

"Yes, I did call everyone dull, didn't I."

"Mn."

"…Sorry."

Hermione scrunched up her brow. "Wha?"

"Sorry," he said, louder this time.

She shook her head messily. "Dun—believe you." Reclusive snothead.

"What? Why not?"

The conversation was wearing Hermione out. It was a struggle even to keep her hand in place over the ice pack. Her hand slipped, her face tilted.

"Hermione? Hermione. I said not to black out."

Hermione blacked out.

-o-o-

Someone stroking her hair. Hermione turned her face toward the gentle hand.

"Hermione?"

"Cho. You downstairs?"

"No, I'm still in bed."

Hermione flopped a hand onto her face with great difficulty. "Oh no. Did I sleep-walk upstairs?"

"No, he carried you."

"Who?"

"Draco. Here's your medicine."

"Drac—mph." Hermione allowed the medicine to slide down her throat before asking again. "Draco?"

"Yes. Don't talk, Hermione, you're very sick."

"Can feel it." _Draco?_

"Go back to sleep, Hermione."

"Can't. What time is it?"

"Six."

"I think I can make it home for dinner."

Cho sighed. "No, silly. Six in the morning."

Hermione's eyes flew open. "I spent the night? You spent another night?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so, Hermione. So you'd better get better by breakfast or else Harry won't let you leave."

"How's your ankle?"

There was a rustle of cloth as Cho pulled back her pants to look at her ankle. "It's looking better. Feeling better, too."

"That's good. Can you walk on it?"

"I can sort of limp. But I've been told by everyone that I should stay off of it."

"…Oh. Oh _crap_, I didn't call Maggie—"

"Don't worry, I took care of that. You'll be fine, Hermione. Go back to sleep. Geez, how are you still so feverish?"

"Am I? Can't feel anything." Cho said something, but Hermione's eyes were closing.

-o-o-

After forcing down half a piece of toast to prove that she was feeling fine, Hermione announced that it was high time she got home.

"But you can't!" Harry exclaimed. "One only need look at you to know that you're sick."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, I mean—"

"I know what you meant, Harry," Hermione said, smiling weakly. "But seriously, I should be getting home. With Cho already stuck here, I'm just another burden—"

"No, you're not," Draco deadpanned over his water.

"Look, I've already called my dad, and he's going to be here to pick me up in ten minutes. I've got to get to work, and I've got a boatload of homework still left to do before winter break is over. I am sick, I'm not denying that. It's just, it makes more sense for me to be sick at home than here."

"Besides," Pansy piped in, "You all can't keep her here if she doesn't want to be here. I'm sure that's breaking some sort of law."

Draco stared at Hermione for a moment, intensely. Then, he looked away, lifting his glass of water to his mouth. Hermione raked a hand through her hair, which was more tangled than before, and sighed. She was happy that she'd won the argument, but at the same time, for some reason, she wasn't.

-o-o-

Mr. Bertram turned to scrutinize his daughter as she climbed into the car wearily.

"So, how was the stay?"

"Mnh."

"How's Cho's ankle?"

"Getting better."

"Good." Mr. Bertram was about to turn back to the wheel, then turned to Hermione again.

"By the way, sorry to sort of throw this on you all of a sudden, but we've got visitors."

"Huh? Who?"

"A second cousin of yours. You've ever met him before."

"What's his name?"

"Neville. Longbottom."

"…_Longbottom_?"

"Aren't you glad you're on my side of the family?"

"Uh-huh. And who're the other visitors?"

"Just one other. Blaise Zabini, some friend of Neville's."

"So what're they here for?"

"Well," Mr. Bertram said with a heavy sigh as he turned to turn the key in the ignition, "Neville and Blaise were passing through town to somewhere—I think they were visiting my great-aunt or something. I'm still not entirely sure why Blaise is here, but Neville—he's got this crazy idea that he can somehow reconcile me with my father."

Hermione sat back, frowning. "Oh."

Mr. Bertram had never explicitly told his family of the obscure, long-standing rift between himself and his father. But the family had somehow known nonetheless, somehow been aware. No one talked about Grandfather Bertram, ever.

"Um." Hermione looked out the window as Harry's house began to slip away behind them. "So. How's it been going with Longbottom so far?"

"Not so well, as you should know. I'm not even sure if his real motive is to actually reconcile anyone. He seems to have taken a liking to Lavender. Both he and Blaise, actually."

"…_Oh_."

"Yes."

"Well then." Hermione cracked her knuckles luxuriously. "How terribly sick do I look, Dad? Be honest."

"Very sick."

"Good."

-o-o-

As soon as Hermione stepped into her house, she breathed a long, thick sigh. But the sigh was cut short as two unfamiliar heads popped into view around the frame of the living room door.

"And you must be Hermione," the slightly chubbier of the two said, smiling unsurely. He walked into full view and extended his hand to her. "Nice to meet you, I'm Neville Longbottom."

"Hello." Hermione shook his hand, emotionlessly. He didn't look too dangerous—dark brown hair, light brown eyes, plain clothes.

Hermione looked over his shoulder. "I know you're my second cousin, but who's your friend?"

"Ah," Neville said, turning around. "This is my close friend, Blaise Zabini. He and I were on a business trip, and were passing through, and I just thought it was only appropriate to come visit your family."

"How kind," Hermione said flatly. She extended her hand, almost sarcastically, to Blaise, who took it graciously and—to her utter surprise—pressed it to his lips.

"Pleasure to meet you, Hermione."

She whipped her hand away. "Pleasure's all mine, trust me."

Mr. Bertram cleared his throat thunderously. "Dinner will be served soon. Will you all?"

-o-o-

Dinner was silent for the first time in years.

Hermione slowly savored the taste of broccoli—who knew being sick could do _this_—as she looked around the dinner table. Something was funny about the situation, but she didn't think it was appropriate to laugh.

"So," Neville said abruptly, breaking the silence in a way that was painful to everyone.

He put down his fork. "You know why I'm here, Uncle."

Mr. Bertram didn't look up from his plate.

"My grandfather—your father—is ready to talk to you."

Still no reaction. Hermione swallowed her broccoli and watched intently.

Neville continued. "Grandfather has realized the rashness of his decision. He wishes to see you again, to see his daughter-in-law. His grandchildren."

Mr. Bertram swallowed what he was chewing, but he didn't bother spearing another piece of food with his fork. His brow was scrunched in thought. Mrs. Bertram, for once, was quiet as well.

"He wants to—"

Mr. Bertram put down his fork. "Stop. Just stop."

Neville looked startled. "What—?"

"I have no interest in reconciling with my father." That flat tone. Hermione knew nothing would change her father's mind.

Neville tried again. "But—"

Mr. Bertram glanced up. "You know nothing of what transpired between your grandfather and myself. He couldn't have told you. He couldn't have told anyone. It would have debased him too much."

"Sir—"

"You," Mr. Bertram said, "are no longer welcome at my house. You are to leave as soon as is possible."

Neville looked around the table at the sullen faces, then out the window. "It's already quite late to begin travel today. Might I stay overnight, and leave tomorrow?"

"As long as you can account for your friend."

Blaise looked up, smiled, and cheerfully changed the topic, much to Hermione's thanks. "Wonderful food you've got here, Mr. Bertram," Blaise said. "May I ask who cooked?"

"That would be my wife."

Blaise nodded, smiling, to Mrs. Bertram, who grimaced back.

Neville looked around again, hoping for one face to encourage him, just one face. But nothing encouraging flickered on anyone's face. He sighed, and looked back down at his food.

-o-o-

The next morning, Hermione was helping the two strangers pack their belongings—which wasn't actually that much of a task, seeing as they had only settled down for a total of fourteen hours—when the doorbell rang. She waited to see if anyone in the house would answer, but heard no footsteps. Sighing, she got up from the guest bed side, smiled at her second cousin, and went to answer the door.

Upon opening the door, she slammed it shut again.

"Cho's here too," Draco said through the door.

Hermione opened the door again, ashamed that she'd slammed it in the first place. Having been called 'dull' by him, and then having been nursed to health by him within days, she didn't know how exactly to treat him, to act around him. She hated that—the not knowing.

It was his fault. His fault to call her dull in the first place, and then to walk her home, catch her when she fell, nurse her back to health—

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled, interrupting her own thoughts. She widened the door, and her eyes instantly brightened when she saw her sister leaning on the doorframe, waiting patiently.

"Cho! You're on your feet!"

"More like my foot. When I found out you came home, I decided I wouldn't stay a minute longer either."

"Glad to hear it. But—erm, there are visitors here that neither of us had been informed of."

"Visitors?" Cho's brow crinkled. "But we never get visitors."

"A second cousin of ours. Neville Longbottom."

"…_Longbottom_?"

"Yeeeah. He brought a friend too, someone completely unrelated to us and whose presence I cannot understand. Do you recognize the name 'Blaise Zabini'?"

"No, I don't. Who—"

"_Zabini_?"

Hermione looked at Draco, who had been politely silent before. His face had paled beyond its usually pale complexion, and he was staring at her, begging her. No. Please, no.

"Yeah, Blaise Zabini."

Draco's face turned slowly from shock to anger—an anger to pure and virulent that Hermione actually took a step back.

"Whao. I'm not going to ask, but if it's that bad, then you should leave—"

At that precise moment, Blaise appeared at the door.

"Sorry, Hermione, but you seem to have one of my socks."

Hermione looked down at her clenched hand. Indeed, for some unknown reason, a sock was hanging pitifully out of her clenched fist. She dropped it immediately.

"Thanks. I—" Blaise bent to pick it up, then looked up. Past Hermione. At Draco.

At once, Hermione knew something was terribly wrong.

-o-o-

A good twenty minutes after Draco had left—stormed off, really—Hermione approached Blaise, who was sitting atop his suitcase, lost in thought, the cheery smile completely gone.

"Blaise?"

Blaise looked up, then smiled at Hermione. A lightning-quick smile, gone the next moment. "Hermione. I'm sorry you had to witness that—"

"No, I'm not really bothered by that. I was just wondering—er, what happened? I've known Malfoy for a few days now, and he's…well, I never imagined he would be capable of looking so livid."

"I take it he's got you under his spell, then."

"His spell?"

Blaise looked down at his hands for a moment.

"The thing is," Blaise said slowly, "Draco and I have known each other. For a long time. Since early childhood, really. I was very close to his family. His father was like my own father, whom I'd lost before I was born. I was pretty much adopted by the Malfoys."

Hermione waited patiently.

"When we were around eighteen," Blaise continued, "Draco's father died. Heart attack. No one ever saw it coming. It was quick, and it took his life almost immediately. Everyone was devastated. Having already lost his mother as a child, this second loss struck Draco especially hard.

"Within months of being given the property, the money, Draco turned…I'm not sure how to say this. His attention focused more and more on his money, his wellbeing. I wanted to start a career, to go to college. When I asked him for monetary support, he refused."

"He didn't give you anything?"

"Not a cent."

Hermione was silent.

"I told him that I would go to a community college nearby, and that I would be around if he wanted to talk or anything. I knew the grief was still plaguing him, and I was hoping that he would overcome it, that we could go back to before. But it wasn't meant to be, I guess. We never really reconciled. Before I finished my freshman year in college, he left. Left his sister, his property, everything. I only heard through the grapevine that he wanted to be a doctor. He'd never told me anything like that before."

"But this doesn't sound like the Draco I know at all! Just yesterday, he was caring for me—I was sick at Potter's house—"

"I know. It didn't sound like the one I knew either. I'm not entirely sure what his motives are, putting on such a nice face. But deep down…something's wrong. And I don't think it's grief over his father's death. In fact, his father's death liberated him. He's the head of his household now. And it's a rich, rich household, let me tell you. Combined with his future career in medicine? He's set for life."

"But why would he have any interest in us? An indistinguishable family in a nowhere town like Worchester?"

"His friend is interested. He came with Harry, didn't he? He's only tagging along for the networking. He's using Harry."

Hearing that phrase so bluntly said—_he's using Harry_—forced Hermione to sit down.

"That's wrong," she murmured. "Can't be right." She felt Draco's arms catching her, Draco's quiet voice washing over her, cooling her fevered mind.

"I'm sorry," Blaise said after a beat. "I see I've struck a sensitive nerve."

Hermione sucked in a breath. She was being weak. Again. "No, you really didn't," she reassured Blaise, smiling. "I just…had no idea."

"Well." Blaise nodded. "Now you do."

Hermione nodded, slowly.

-o-o-

After Blaise and Neville had left, Hermione paced back and forth in her room like a caged animal. Cho walked in almost immediately after the front door closed.

"Hermione?"

"Mm."

"Hermione, tell me what Blaise said."

Hermione sat down and told all.

Cho sat down next to her after a beat of silence. "I…had no idea."

"I didn't either."

"Something is very wrong about this," Cho said, frowning. "That Blaise would tell you his past with Draco so easily? And it doesn't match the Draco who carried you up the stairs last night at all."

"I know it doesn't. It must be part of Draco's lies, then. I should have known the minute he came into the room, looking at all of us like that. Calling us dull without even bothering to meet any of us. I should have known. Why did I let him trick me?"

"Hermione, don't jump to that so quickly."

"I'm not jumping to anything too quickly. Dra—Malfoy—"

Cho looked at her sister sadly. "And to think you liked him," Cho said quietly.

"I never did!" Hermione said quickly. "I never liked Malfoy. And I'll—I'll strangle you if you say it again."

-o-o-

At the pharmacy the next day, Hermione's supposedly-turned-off phone rang.

"Damn it all!" Hermione hollered, flipping open her phone and pressing it to her ear.

"He-LLO?"

"Hermione," came a whispering voice.

"Luna? You know I'm at work right now—"

"Okay, fine," Luna said, sighing. "I'll make it short, then. Your second cousin—Neville—I think I'm in love with him."

"…WHAAT?"

But Luna hung up.

-o-o-

Hermione pounded like a madwoman on Luna's door. "Luna? Luna!"

Luna opened the door slightly, then smiled at Hermione dreamily. "Hermione. Neville is the sweetest thing I've ever met in my life."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "Never in my life did I ever think for a moment that you would say such a thing about _anyone_," Hermione whispered.

Luna just swooned on her feet. "He recognized my book on Hiberno-Saxon creatures of lore—you remember that book?—and we talked on and on about Hiberno-Saxon lore and about—about everything else, it seems like."

Hermione gaped at her friend in shock. "Can't I rely even on you to remain sober, Luna?"

"Oh, Hermione, he's coming back in three days to visit. I'm positive we're going to get married."

Without hesitating a second longer, Hermione turned on her heel and stalked away.

-o-o-

Neville wasn't a bad guy, really. Just—he came at a bad time. A very bad time.

Hermione paced in her room for the second time in one day, which was unusual. Twisting her hopelessly-tangled hair around her fingers, she bit her lip, trying to think straight.

Luna and Neville—she'd apologize to Luna later, and she figured she could deal with Neville. But only because he'd accomplished the amazing feat of being Luna's first male acquaintance, even friend. And future husband, apparently.

Harry and Cho—that seemed to be going all right too. Nothing to worry about. Yet.

Draco.

_Malfoy_.

Hermione buried her face into her hands. The Draco who promised her soup, who caught her under the dim street lights—and then the Draco who'd withdrawn from his best friend, from his family—

He'd called her dull, called everyone at the party dull. But Hermione thought, after getting to know him, that he had done so out of a shy, flustered whim, out of being uncomfortable in such a small room with so many people. She sort of understood why he'd insult people out of his own shyness, too. She'd been like that, once, a long time ago.

And his kindness towards her—but then his cheating Blaise—the softness of his eyes as he placed the ice pack on her forehead—but then the anger boiling deep in his eyes as he glared at Blaise—

Hermione wanted, very much, to like him. She came to terms to that, she could accept it. She wasn't one to dislike someone based on surface impressions, anyhow. But she knew nothing beyond the already-unclear surface; she couldn't figure Draco out. He seemed to be hiding a world of secrets, of quiet, of anger, of pain, inside him.

"Hermione?"

Hermione's head snapped up, and she found herself eye to eye with Cho.

"Cho? Is something wrong?"

"I was going to ask you that."

Hermione's eyes wandered back to her hands. Cho watched her sister closely for a moment, then sighed.

"Luna came by. She said something about telling you that she'd made up her mind, and was following someone—I heard Neville, but I think I'm wrong."

Hermione shook her head wearily. "She fell in love with Neville."

"She's _following_ him?"

"To wherever his business trip is taking him, I believe."

Cho stared at her sister. "When did she start liking him? Wasn't he only here for half a day?"

"Yeaaah."

"Do you think we should—you know—go after her?"

Hermione thought about it. It sounded like "Would you like to get the hell out of here?". Which was very, _very_ appealing.

"I'll go after her. Probably should. You never know what kind of trouble someone like Luna can get into. Did she mention where she was headed?"

"She said the city was Beledaire. A little north from here. I've been there before."

"Right, then. Beledaire."

"What should I tell Mom and Dad?"

"Tell them I went after a lovesick-for-Longbottom Luna Lovegood."

"Will do."

-o-o-

As she was leaving the house, a backpack of necessities slung over her shoulder, Cho came running out of nowhere, face gone white.

Hermione dropped her bag. "Cho?"

"Hermione," Cho panted. "It's—It's Harry."

"Did he break a bone or something?"

"Worse. He's left."

"…What?"

"Gone. I just got an e-mail from his phone—he's gone for some project proposal meeting. It didn't say where he'd be going. He's just—just—"

"Oh, Cho." Hermione folded her sister in a hug.

"Why do you think he left?" Cho whispered against Hermione's hair.

"Whatever the reason, it wasn't you. I know that's what you're thinking. You didn't do anything wrong, you couldn't possibly have. It must have just been business then."

"But it was so—abrupt. Unannounced. He's not the type to forget he had a meeting coming up, and just pop it on us out of nowhere."

Hermione's heart sank as another possibility came to mind. "Maybe he was never serious about you two to begin with."

"…What do you mean?"

"Well, he's rich. That's the way they are. Come and go. Best to forget him, Cho." Hermione sounded more confident than she felt. Far more so.

"D'you think so?"

"Yes. Just forget about him, Cho. He's not worth it."

Cho let go of Hermione slowly. "I'll try to. I…really liked him, Hermione. I still do."

"I know. We all do."

"I…" Cho bit her lip, forcing the knot in her throat to subside. Hermione watched as her sister wrapped a cloak of forbearance about her features. "Good luck. On finding Luna," Cho finally said.

"Thanks. Do Mom and Dad know?"

"Not yet. Probably best for you to get going before they find out."

"You're probably right."

A quick good-bye. And then Hermione was gone, her mind in a haze. Find Luna—find Longbottom—Zabini might be there—answers. Answers to all these questions flying around in her head. Sighing, passing a hand over her face, Hermione got in her car, dropping by at the pharmacy to tell Maggie before setting off for Beledaire.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: And that's chapter 3! Sorry if it wasn't up to par with the other two chapters, I'm a little sick right now and my mind is refusing to let me focus on anything.

Thanks again to **Hugo Purist** for the love. Also to **victwi**, for your love as well. :D Always nice to hear from readers.

I'm going to get some sleep now.

REVIEW.

-Sanded Silk-


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N**: Chapter 4. Done while listening to "Illuminated" by the group Hurts.

**Disclaimer**: dnthn.

-Sanded Silk-

* * *

><p>Hermione stopped at a rest station because she suddenly realized that she had absolutely no idea where she was going.<p>

After closing her eyes for a few minutes, trying to gather her frazzled brain, Hermione flipped open her cell phone—only then realizing that she'd forgotten her cell phone charger—and dialed Luna's number.

After several rings, there was a breathless "Hello?"

"Luna? Is this Luna? It better be Luna."

"Hermione? Is that you?"

"Yeah. Luna, what's this about running off to Beledaire? Don't tell me you're after Longbottom."

"Oh, Hermione, I was hoping you'd understand. I love him. I'm not letting him go."

"But he promised to come back!"

"I couldn't wait."

"Why are you so unreasonable all of a sudden? Do you realize that you're leaving behind everything—your _dad_—for a complete stranger? I know nothing about Longbottom, nothing about his intentions; you're putting yourself completely in his hands—"

"Hermione. Please. Just trust me on this one. Have I ever been anything other than unreasonable since you've known me?"

"No, which is why this particular time worries me so much. Please, Luna, think this through. Where are you?"

"I'm in his office."

"WHAAT? Where are you? In Beledaire, I mean."

"You're coming to get me?"

"I'm coming to see you."

"Before I tell you where I am, Hermione, you must know that nothing you do will make me go home. Absolutely nothing."

The dead seriousness in Luna's voice struck Hermione with apprehension. "All right, Luna, I understand."

"1400 Sepulcher Street."

"Sepulcher—? What kind of a name is _that_?"

"That's where I am."

"All right. _Stay there_. Meet me outside if you can. I'll be there asap."

"Neville says he never got a chance to talk to you properly. I'm sure he'd appreciate having a real conversation with you."

"Heh." Presumptuous, meddling stranger. "We'll see when I get there."

-o-o-

Sepulcher Street was actually the brightest, busiest street in Beledaire, as far as Hermione could tell, after having driven throughout the entire city, utterly lost. After finding the right building—a very tall, very rectangular, very grey building, named 'McGonagall & Co. Legal Services'—Hermione parked the car along the street and marched straight in through the doors.

As she walked in, Hermione was immediately struck by the dimness and loftiness of the lights, the deep rich color of the wood paneling, the pervading scent of old books, of letters printed in exquisite black ink on ivory pages. She was awed, almost intimidated, by the richness of the sight—until she remembered that the precise purpose of this building was to inspire this sort of feeling. Clamping down on her awe, ignoring the "Hello Miss"s and "May I help you"s, Hermione glanced around the room and found Luna, perched on a low couch of violet-brown leather, looking sunny and a bit dreamy and entirely out of place. Beside her, talking avidly to her, was Neville. Blaise was nowhere in sight, but that didn't bother Hermione. Not too much.

She was standing in front of them within moments.

Luna looked up, saw Hermione first.

"Hermione!" Luna's face was serenely happy, tinged pink. Talking to Neville had put her in an unnaturally good mood.

"Hermione, this is—erm, you two have already met. But _this_ is Neville Longbottom. And Neville—_this_ is Hermione. Your second cousin."

There was a long silence as Hermione surveyed a suddenly-uncomfortable Neville.

"You came over to reconcile my father with our grandfather," Hermione intoned.

"Yes." Neville nodded.

"And what made you think you would succeed?"

Neville looked taken aback by the question. "Well, I had time on my side. A good amount of time had passed by since the argument first surfaced."

Hermione shook her curls. "Promise me that you will not attempt such a reconciliation again, at least not by yourself. My father was deeply…affected by your sudden appearance."

Luna looked between the two, her face sober.

Neville nodded slowly. "I will not do such a thing again. I'm sorry I came by so abruptly—it's just—I thought your father would be able to refuse more easily if I announced I was visiting ahead of time."

Hermione glared.

"Longbottom!"

Blaise strode down the hall, stopping short at the sight of Hermione. "Well, Longbottom, it looks like it's our lucky day. Not one young lady, but two!"

Hermione scowled. "Don't worry, Zabini. I wasn't here for _you_."

Blaise feigned hurt, putting a hand to his forehead and sighing deeply. Before he could say anything else, Neville cut in.

"Is something wrong, Blaise?"

"Oh, not really. McGonagall sent me down to call you up to her office. She says the client is ready."

"Good, then. Luna, I think you should just wait down here, in the lobby. I may take awhile."

Luna nodded happily. Hermione looked at Luna, then at Neville, then at Luna again. There was nothing to be done. If Neville was fine with Luna hanging on to him, then Hermione had a slim chance—if not none—that the two of them could be separated without the entire floor knowing about their objections.

Neville was about to leave, when he stopped short and regarded Hermione for a moment.

"Hermione, would you care to come along?"

"…Why?"

"Well," Neville said slowly. "The thing is, McGonagall—Minerva McGonagall, the "McGonagall" in "McGonagall & Co."—is the person who's been pushing me to make amends between your father and our grandfather. She's our grandfather's close friend, and she thought that the reconciliation would do good for Grandfather's mind. He really is bothered by the argument, you know."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "So why should I come along again?"

"You're as close to your father as we can get at this point. Maybe she'll stop bothering me about the argument if you talk to her about how it's not necessary. Or how it's impossible."

Hermione thought for a moment. She had no inclination to further entangle herself in this web of rich, idle meddlers, but the prospect of confronting this Minerva McGonagall about interfering in the family affairs of other people appealed to Hermione's always-confrontational nature.

"Sure, then. I'll come."

-o-o-

Minerva McGonagall was a tall woman with her grey hair tied back in an immaculate bun, dressed severely in green and black. When Hermione walked in, Minerva's head snapped up immediately to scrutinize the newcomer.

"And who is your friend, Neville?"

"This is Hermione. Bertram. The daughter of my grandfather's…er, estranged son."

Minerva's tilted her head, her interest in Hermione heightened.

"Miss Bertram," Ms. McGonagall said, rising from her seat and nodding in greeting. "Has Neville told you who I am?"

"Yes, Ms. McGonagall. It's a pleasure to meet you." Hermione served up the lie with a smile.

"Please, have a seat. Neville, your client is in the next room. Through that door."

"Thanks, Ms. McGonagall." Neville disappeared, leaving Hermione alone to face Minerva.

"So," Minerva said, sitting down at her desk. "How is your family? Your father?"

"We're all doing fine."

"I believe your oldest sister is now at graduate-school age?"

"Yes. Cho is going to graduate school soon, to study architecture."

"Architecture?" Minerva's voice sounded strangled as she pronounced the A. "Not law? Not medicine?"

"No."

"…Well. What about your younger sisters?"

"May I ask about my grandfather? I'm—really curious as to how he is. I've never met him, you know. And, if you don't mind, I'm not entirely comfortable telling you about my family, since I don't...well, I don't know you at all." Hermione smiled brilliantly.

Minerva leaned back slightly, regarding Hermione with surprise and aversion. Hermione could tell at once that Minerva was not used to being addressed this way; nor had she even thought of her interference with Bertram affairs as, in any way, unusual.

"Of course," she said presently, regaining her composure but with a decidedly colder air than before. She knew that Hermione's request was a reasonable one, but felt affronted by it nonetheless. "Last time I saw him, he was doing just fine. Still in charge of his law firm, still as lucid as a twenty-year-old. He was very concerned about his son, though. Your father. Your family. The silence between the two has been very, very long."

"...Oh?"

"Your grandfather is a close colleague of mine, ever since our undergraduate days. We've collaborated on several cases, and he's been as exceptional in handling the stress and responsibility as ever. He's a very capable man."

"I see."

"You know, Ms. Bertram," Minerva said after a beat, "it's possible for you to meet your grandfather tonight."

"How?"

"I was just going over to his house for dinner. It's his step-niece's second birthday. It's a wonderful opportunity to meet the rest of your extended family, you know. Dispel a few myths, maybe."

Dispel a few myths? Hermione bristled at what she thought that phrase to imply. "Well, since I'm already here, I suppose I might as well."

Ms. McGonagall smiled, as if she knew she'd struck a sensitive nerve. "Well, then. If you come back to my office later, at about five o'clock, we can leave together."

Hermione rose from her seat, smiling back. "Thank you very much, Ms. McGonagall."

"Oh no, the pleasure's mine."

-o-o-

Down in the lobby, Hermione found Luna still sitting where she'd been. Upon seeing Hermione, Luna rose to her feet.

"Hermione, before you say anything, I want you to know that nothing you do—"

Hermione sighed. "I know, Luna. Nothing I do will persuade you to let go of Neville. I guess I can accept that. Just—you left everyone back home in such a hurry. It was unusually brash and whimsical of you. Your father isn't too happy that you left him without explaining yourself, and I won't even elaborate on how worried he's been about you."

Luna sagged. "I know," she whispered, serenely dejected.

Hermione patted her shoulder wearily. "Just promise me one thing—that you'll go back home and talk this out with your father. Do that much, at least."

Luna nodded slowly. "Okay. I will."

"Tonight?"

"Yes." Luna nods twice, big healthy head bobs, a gesture she has used to convey her seriousness in making a promise ever since they were both young.

"And can you tell my parents when you get home that I'll be staying here overnight? I've been invited to meet my grandfather."

Luna looked up slowly. "But I thought you guys kicked Neville out of your house when he brought up your grandfather."

"Is that how he put it? He came upon us rather unannounced, imposed himself upon our hospitality, and demanded that my father reconcile with my grandfather after years of being ostracized by the rest of the Bertram family for reasons I don't even know of. And I suspect he has little to no idea about what the argument was actually about. He was, all in all, pretty unjustified in popping in on us."

Luna looked pained. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I only know what Neville told me. Anyway, I'll go home right now. Neville said he wouldn't be able to meet up with me all night, anyway."

"Do you have a ride home?"

"Of course I do. You think I walked here?"

"It's possible." Hermione grinned, waved good-bye at an equally-amused Luna, and watched as her friend left the building.

-o-o-

Hermione was pacing in the lobby, ignoring the stares from the clerks and clients, when Ms. McGonagall appeared in an elevator. Stepping out through the doors, she looked up and saw Hermione.

"Ah, you're here," Ms. McGonagall said as she walked up to Hermione. "This way."

"Is it all right if I drive behind you, in my own car? I don't want to leave my car here in the parking lot."

"Of course. But before we leave, we have to rendezvous my nephew."

"Your nephew?"

"Yes. He was invited to the party as well. Ah, look, there he is. Punctual, as always. Oh, and he's brought along his other cousin! Wonderful, we won't have to wait a moment longer." Beaming with alarmingly abnormal joy, Ms. McGonagall looked behind Hermione and waved her hand in greeting.

Hermione turned around.

"Draco! Ronald! How wonderful to see the two of you."

Draco smiled and nodded, and saw Hermione. He stopped short.

Ronald, red-haired and unbelievably freckled, walked around Draco and right into his aunt's arms. "Aunt Minerva! You haven't changed a bit."

"Ronald, still in need of a haircut, I see," Ms. McGonagall said, smiling as she wrapped her arms around her much-taller nephew.

"But I just had one last week!"

"Well, I can't tell the difference."

Hermione didn't see aunt and nephew babbling, didn't hear them. All she could see was Draco, his blond hair and wide slate eyes, his slacks and dress shirt draped with sharp, careless grace about his body, his shoulders sharp angles against the light from the windows. All she could hear was her pulse, pounding relentlessly in her ears, pounding, pounding.

"Draco, won't you come give your aunt a hug?" Ms. McGonagall said. Draco blinked slowly, and walked towards his aunt. As he brushed by Hermione, she couldn't quell the shiver that broke out across her back.

"Ah, you two. You don't know how wonderful it is for me to see the two of you again. You're ready to leave?"

"Actually, Aunt Minerva, I have to use the bathroom," Ronald said.

"Should have gone earlier! I'm always telling you," Ms. McGonagall called after him as he ran.

With a sigh, Ms. McGonagall turned back to the two awkwardly-silent young adults standing before her.

"Well. I suppose I should introduce the two of you. Draco, this is an acquaintance of mine, Miss Hermione Bertram. She's Philip Bertram's granddaughter."

Draco nodded shortly. "Yes. I just met her about a week ago." Hermione mumbled something in agreement.

"Oh, the two of you met? Well, this is convenient. I suppose you met my nephew when he was visiting Worchester with his friend, Harry Potter," Ms. McGonagall said to Hermione. Again, Hermione mumbled something inaudible that everyone else took as a concurrence.

There was a long, awkward silence, broken only by a red-faced, rushing Ronald, stumbling from the bathrooms. "Sorry I took so long. I'm good now."

"Let's go, then, by all means. Hermione, where is your car parked?"

"Um…" With several creative hand motions, Hermione conveyed the fact that her car was parked two feet away from the front door. When they got out of the building, she slipped into her car and drove to where Ms. McGonagall, Draco, and Ronald had parked their cars. And then the group was off, with a very nerve-wracked, very confused Hermione bringing up the tail.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Done! Finally! I think we should pop a bottle of champagne.

…Yeah. I need sleep, as you may tell.

REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW

-Sanded Silk-


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Chapter 5.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine.

-Sanded Silk-

* * *

><p>Hermione stepped out of her car as slowly as she could, under the pretense of closely examining her grandfather's sprawling mansion.<p>

Ms. McGonagall strode over. "Come along, Hermione, we're already three minutes late. Come along."

"Yeaaah. Um, does my grandfather know I'm here?"

"No. Not yet."

"But…might this…you know, my being here…upset him?"

"What? No, no. Of course not. Come along, we're late."

"Three minutes, I know." Hermione finally allowed herself to be dragged toward the gargantuan house.

Gargantuan it was. "I'm sorry, how many acres did you say his property is?" Hermione asked her escort.

"Exactly 46 acres. Now come _along_." By now, Draco and Ronald had caught up with them, and were walking uncomfortably close behind Hermione, forcing her to keep up with Ms. McGonagall. Seething and internally whimpering at the same time, Hermione allowed herself to be shepherded into the house.

-o-o-

Plunked between to Draco and Ms. McGonagall, across from Grandfather Bertram. Hermione stared down at the pristine broccoli, the baked fish, the dinner bun baked to a golden perfection, the bright yellow chicken soup. This was _not_ a good day.

There was a long—_unbearably_ long—stretch of chewing and swallowing and napkin rustling. Hermione didn't touch her food.

Grandpa Bertram was a tall, tall man, dwarfing even Hermione's father. Despite his age, his back was ramrod straight, and he wore a suit and tie in his own house. His hair was streaked with white, but it only somehow amplified his imposing presence. The wrinkles in his face molded his expression into an eternal mask of calm, calculating disapproval. When he looked up from his dinner at Hermione, she flinched visibly.

"So, Hermione," he said, straightening, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. "My granddaughter. We've never met before, I believe."

Hermione swallowed. Nodded.

"Are you not the talkative type, then?"

Hermione smiled jerkily. "No, not really." Draco cast her a brief sideways glance, one that she didn't dare return.

"I don't know where to begin asking questions," Grandfather Bertram said, smiling coldly to himself.

"Well, my father's doing well," Hermione began feebly. "His business is thriving, he's healthy. M-My mother's doing well too."

"And what about your sisters?"

"Cho is going to graduate school, to study architecture."

"Architecture? Not law? Or medicine?"

Hermione inwardly sighed. "No, not law or medicine."

"What gave her such an idea? To pursue architecture?"

"She took AP Art History in high school for the mandatory art credit, and she's been obsessed with architecture since."

"And what about your other sisters? I believe you have three sisters total?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, Padma and Lavender are the other two. They're still in high school."

"And how are their studies?"

"Going well, I suppose. Padma wants to be a musician, and Lavender a fashion designer."

"Hm. It seems your father was unable to raise an aspiring doctor or lawyer." Grandfather Bertram's wrinkles deepened.

Hermione coughed. "Actually, I'm on the path to becoming a doctor—"

"Really?" Grandfather Bertram straightened.

"Um, yes. I'm interning at a pharmacy near my home. I've learned quite a bit." About lifting boxes and reading labels.

"Is that so? I'm glad to hear it." Grandfather Bertram nodded multiple times in evident approval. Ms. McGonagall looked relieved.

"Are you aware that Draco is interning at a hospital?" Grandfather Bertram asked Hermione.

"Yes, I am."

"He's told you, then."

"Yes."

Draco remained carefully emotionless.

"So what inspired you to become a doctor?" Grandfather Bertram asked Hermione.

"Um, it was my Biology teacher back in high school. She made Honors Biology—and, later, AP Biology—very interesting," Hermione said. It felt awkward, sharing this personal view with a complete stranger.

Grandfather Bertram nodded in approval again. "I'm glad to hear it, very glad to hear it."

Another stretch of silence.

Just as Hermione was daring to reach for her fork, not caring whether it was for the fish or the broccoli _justletmestuffmyfacewithsomething_, Grandfather Bertram looked up at her again.

"Do you play the piano, Hermione?"

_Drat_. "Yes. Only a little."

"You seem like you would be especially proficient at it."

"Um, no, I—"

"Don't be modest. After dinner, you'll agree to entertain us with a little piano music, then?"

"But when I say 'only a little'—"

"Nonsense. You are an aspiring doctor! How can you be an aspiring doctor without being an accomplished pianist?"

Did Hermione miss some kind of secret about becoming a doctor? Last time she checked, she didn't need to know how to play the piano in order to cut open a body. She looked over at Draco, who was looking at her. They both looked at Grandfather Bertram, who was smiling and nodding. Then they lowered their faces to their plates.

-o-o-

Hermione slowly sat down on the piano seat. There was no stalling for Grandfather Bertram. Absolutely none.

Her mind raced. When was the last time she'd touched a piano? A month ago? A year ago? A year ago sounded about right.

Jingle Bells? The "Jaws" theme? Maybe she'd be forgiven if she sang the words to Jingle Bells as she played it.

Another song popped into her head—the one that Luna loved, the wordless one that someone from Luna's mother's family composed years ago. At least Hermione could still grasp the central melody.

Replaying the tune crazily in her head, she looked over at Grandfather Bertram, then Ms. McGonagall, both of whom were smiling and nodding. Then she looked at Ronald, who was clearly not planning to pay any attention to her playing, and at Draco, who was looking at her with muted concern.

She frowned at the keys, prayed to any god listening, and inched her fingers onto the piano.

The tune that came belching out of the elegant grand piano made everyone jump, Hermione included. Even the cat, lying on an armchair, pricked its ears, before picking itself up and scampering out the door for cover.

As Hermione played on, hitting random keys and cranking out the song, more or less, she sneaked a glance at her audience. Grandfather Bertram and Ms. McGonagall were both still smiling strained, confused smiles. Ronald was oblivious. Draco's eyebrows were scrunched in his effort to name the song.

Averting her gaze back to the keys, Hermione counted to thirteen, slammed out a random chord, and stopped.

There was a long, butter-knife silence.

Finally, Grandfather Bertram lifted his hands to clap once, twice, three times. The others followed suit. Shortly after, the clapping died out.

"Um, Hermione, pray tell who the composer was?"

"Bernini," Hermione mumbled as she stood up from the piano seat and ran for the armchair across the room, the one formerly occupied by the cat.

Her answer seemed to satisfy the doctor and the lawyer and the daydreaming cousin, because a conversation was quickly struck up regarding a change in courtroom etiquette. Hermione sank further and further into her armchair as she attempted to quell her breathing and still her shaking limbs. The cat stuck its head back into the room, saw with annoyance that its spot had been taken, and disappeared from sight once again.

Someone was walking over. Hermione turned her head with difficulty to see that it was Ronald.

"Hi," Ronald said bluntly, sitting down in a twin armchair nearby and smiling.

Hermione smiled back.

"Hey yourself," she said.

"I know Aunt Minerva calls Ronald, but everyone else calls me Ron."

"Okay. Ron."

"So. That was some pretty amazing playing," Ron remarked conversationally. Hermione scrutinized his face for signs of sarcasm—or sympathetic lying—and found none, so she shrugged nonchalantly.

"No, I mean it," Ron said, smiling, the freckles gone awry on his face. Hermione looked at him for a beat, and smiled back. She knew as well as he did that he had been paying absolutely no attention to her music, but she appreciated the simplicity with which he approached her.

"Thanks."

"No problem. So you're Miss Bertram?"

"I guess I am."

"I'm Draco's cousin. McGonagall may have told you that by now."

"She did."

"So how _did_ you meet Draco? It's not often he reacts to girls he's met before."

"He reacted to seeing me?"

"Oh yes. His eyebrows quivered. That doesn't happen often, mind you."

"...His eyebrows quivered."

"Yes. But don't be fooled by his stoniness, he's really a great guy."

Hermione sneaked a look at Draco, who had given up faking interest in Grandfather Bertram's and Ms. McGonagall's conversation and was staring at the ceiling.

"He seems to like staring at ceilings a lot," Hermione remarked, remembering how he had been staring at the ceiling the first time she tried to talk to him.

"He does that often, yes."

"Is he always like this? So quiet and to himself?"

"Yes, yes he is. But he's a great person. He's very compassionate towards those close to him. He cares a lot for his sister, for instance."

Hermione nodded. He'd been writing a letter to her that one day. Then she frowned. But why would he write his sister a letter if, according to Blaise, he'd left his family for fortune?

Hermione looked over at Ron. "So tell me about Draco's greatness, then. I haven't seen much of it. He's always so quiet."

"Oh, he's done countless things for those around him. He's refused to fire useless butlers and maids at his home, even though they're completely unnecessary to keep around, because he knows they've got nowhere else to go. And just recently, he apparently saved a friend from extreme heartache."

"A friend? From heartache?"

"Yup. Apparently, his friend had fallen for a young woman who didn't seem to reciprocate his interest."

Hermione's heart hitched. Harry leaving—

"He…?"

"They say she was exceptionally modest, and though friendly, didn't seem to show any romantic interest."

Hermione's head felt too heavy for her neck. She leaned her head back, still staring at Ron. "So he separated them," she whispered.

"Yes," Ron said. "But it was all out of concern for his friend's wellbeing. Draco didn't want his friend pursuing the woman, only to be broken-hearted in the end."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but after trying and failing to make coherent sounds with her mouth, gave up. Closing her mouth, she looked across the room at Draco once again, mind whirling.

-o-o-

Hermione refused to stay overnight. She shook her head calmly at everyone's protest, and glared at Draco when he opened his mouth to join the protestors.

Holding his gaze evenly, she quietly said, "Cho probably needs me at home right now."

The rest of the room was silent at this strange excuse. Draco looked confused, almost hurt, having noticed that her glare seemed to be pointed expressly at him. The confusion was evident in his slate grey eyes. Slate grey eyes, grey grey eyes—

Hermione ripped her gaze away, snatched up her coat, and walked out of the door.

As she slipped the key into the ignition, she clunked her head onto the steering wheel, trying to calm her whirring, sharp-edged nerves. She still had to make it home alive, after all.

Home. How could she face Cho? How could she look at Cho without breaking out into tears? Poor, innocent Cho, whose very modesty had cost her—

Hermione turned her head on the steering wheel and groaned. Maybe she should stay in Beledaire for the night. But not here.

Fumbling for her cell phone, Hermione took several deep breaths before dialing Cho's number.

"Hermione?"

"Cho."

"Hey! Luna stopped by, saying that you were all right, that you were staying for something. What did you stay for?"

"I met Grandpa Bertram."

"…Oh…?"

"Yes. He was actually okay." Normally, Hermione would gush about Luna and McGonagall and Longbottom and Zabini, the richness of the house, the blandness of the food, the wrinkles and white hairs and ramrod-straight back, the piano playing, Ron, the cat, Draco—but she couldn't find the strength to let it all out. She suppressed a sigh.

"Hermione? Is everything okay?"

"Hm? Yeah. Why do you ask?"

"You don't sound too great. Did something happen?"

Hermione shook her head, then remembered that Cho couldn't see her. "No, nothing happened. I'm just tired. I was really nervous about meeting him."

"How'd you find him?"

"The lady in charge of the law firm where I'd found Luna knew him, and his fight with our father."

"...Wow. Sounds like quite a day."

"Yup. How's everyone at home? How are you?"

"Everything's fine. I'm fine."

Hermione decided not to explicitly mention Harry. The slight dip in Cho's tone told her enough.

"Hey, listen," Hermione said. "Could you do me a favor? Tell mom that I'm staying in Beledaire for the night. I can't drive home in the dark. I'd rather not risk running into something, or…yeah."

"Okay, I understand. Where are you staying? With Grandpa?"

"No, of course not. I'll just find a not-so-sketchy hotel for the night. I've got the cash."

"Okay. Should I tell everyone about Grandpa?"

"No. Don't say anything. Tell them that I…found an old classmate. Um, let's see…Lily Escobar. From the fifth grade."

"Sure. Good night, then."

"G'night."

Hermione hung up, leaned back, closed her eyes, and let out a long, deep sigh, before starting her car and backing slowly out of the driveway.

In her hotel room, after a long hot shower and a battle with the slippery bathroom floor, Hermione flopped onto the bed, in her underwear and T-shirt from the day, and allowed her frazzled mind to slip away into a deep, silent darkness.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Ta-da. -suppressed, exhausted yaaawwwn-

Also done to "Illuminated" by Hurts, albeit on a lower volume, to honor the wishes of a certain sleeping beauty/sister.

REVIEW.

-Sanded Silk-


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: Chapter 6. Just realized that broccoli has appeared twice in this story already.

**Disclaimer**: Notmine.

-Sanded Silk-

* * *

><p>As Hermione stepped into her house, she felt the weariness settle back into her bones. Sitting down in the nearest chair, she ignored Lavender's and Padma's annoying questions as well as she could, and waited for Cho's miraculous plan that would spirit away the two family clowns.<p>

And spirit them away Cho did, although there wasn't anything miraculous about her method. "Come on, guys, look at how exhausted Hermione is. Leave her alone, guys, come _on_." With a final shove, Cho forced the two younger sisters out of the room, ignoring their squawks of protest, and shut the door.

"Now," Cho said as she sat down by her sister, "I now you didn't stay at Beledaire because you were afraid of injuring yourself on the way home. You've never been concerned with something like that before."

"Touché."

"Please, tell me what happened."

"It was just...it was such an awkward night. You can't imagine how upset Grandpa was when he heard that none of you guys were aspiring doctors or lawyers. And you can't imagine how upset he was when he heard my piano playing."

"Oh, lord. He made you play the _piano_?" Cho balked. Hermione nodded.

"…Oh. I…see." Cho scratched her chin, looking utterly sympathetic.

Hermione nodded again, wearily. "I'm still a bit tired. I'm going to go to bed now. Please don't say anything to Mom, or Dad, or…anyone else."

"Sure. I'll fend off Mom."

"And Dad, if you can."

"Okay."

Hermione stumbled up the stairs, and thanked her sister before closing the door and burying her face into her pillow.

All last night, all morning, she had been grappling with…well, with herself. And with Draco, in a sense.

She liked him. Yes, she did. She'd fallen in love with his brooding silences, his slate-grey eyes and limp platinum hair, his rare smile, the sharp angle of his shoulders, the way he fended off Pansy. His intelligence. His caring. And everything else that she couldn't possibly—couldn't ever—put into words.

But at the same time, she was angry at him for betraying her sister. For reading off Cho so abruptly. And she knew, without a doubt, that she could not bring herself to even look neutrally at a man who would have the heart to do such a thing.

All talk about him protecting Harry from heartache was forgotten. All of Ron's earnest compliments toward Draco, and all of the tenderness Draco showed when he was taking care of a helplessly delirious Hermione, melted away to nothing. And all that was left were Zabini's stinging accusations and Harry's hurried departure and Ron's cheerful description of the betrayal and Hermione's own smarting heart.

Hermione turned her head to breathe deeply. There was no more uncertainty. No matter how Draco looked, no matter how caring he'd seemed, no matter how meaningful and how adorable is silent broodings were, he was trash if he dared to hurt Cho.

The line was drawn. And Hermione promised herself to never break this promise, to never look at Draco and see anything more than what he really was.

Hermione left her room, feeling as though her resolution was somehow apparent in her face. Her suspicions were confirmed as she passed by Cho on the stairs.

"Hermione?" Cho said, stopping on the stairs, frowning.

"I'm going to work," Hermione said. She put on her coat, and her boots, and left.

-o-o-

Of course, she never made it to work. She barely made it to the café en route.

Sitting down at one of the tables outside, despite the loneliness, Hermione slipped her feet under the chair, sat on her hands, and tucked her chin into her chest, letting the cold settle around her.

It was after several minutes of sitting like this when she heard someone walk up to her table and sit down across from her. Slowly, she lifted her head.

"Malfoy."

Draco nodded.

"Why're you here?" Hermione fought to sound neutral.

"To…to make sure you got home safely."

"Well, here I am, safe and sound. You may go now." She was losing quickly at the sound-neutral game.

Draco coughed. "Actually, I'm here to…uh…are you free tonight?"

Hermione nearly choked on her own spit. "Am I—_what_?" Please. Don't do this to me now.

"Well, I was thinking…" Draco had been staring at the snow-covered brick ground, and allowed his eyes to wander as he tried to think of a way to put into words what he wanted to say. As his eyes wandered, they met Hermione's gaze, and locked.

Hermione flinched at the look in his eyes, and looked away.

"You're not asking…?"

Draco nodded. "Yes I am."

"Then no."

Draco's eyebrow lifted, ever so slightly. He saw that something was off with Hermione, that a weight was chaffing Hermione's shoulders. Instead of asking why he was being so ruthlessly refused, he asked, "Is something wrong?"

Hermione leaned forward onto the snow-covered table, smiling mockingly. "Is something wrong? I would think so, yes."

Draco frowned. "What happened?"

"You happened." Accusatory, pointing finger.

"Did I do something?"

"How can you sit there coolly and ask me if you did something? Don't tell me you're _unaware_ of what you did?"

"I'd like to know what you mean."

Hermione stared at him, disbelieving. How dare he sit there, leaning back, looking so innocently confused?

"Do you deny that you separated Harry and my sister?"

Draco's face turned grim.

"Well? Do you deny it? That you were the cause of Harry's sudden departure, and of my sister's heartbreak?"

Draco shook his head, slowly, once. "No, I don't deny it."

Hermione stopped, bit her lip to keep from crying out. "How could you do such a thing?" She whispered. She needed to hear him say why, though she didn't want to.

"Because I didn't think your sister reciprocated his feelings," Draco said carefully, mechanically, looking directly at Hermione.

"How did you know? How did you know for sure?" Hermione demanded.

"Of course, there was no way I could know for sure. But I didn't want him to risk…" Draco sighed then, put a hand to his forehead.

"There have been…other women. In the past. All of whom assumed various—ah, _interesting_—facets to win Harry over. And it wasn't him they were after, of course; his money—"

"So you just assumed that my sister was in it for his _wallet_?"

"She was always so modest towards him, always shying away from his attention! Combined with the fact that she was always pining to get home while she was at Harry's house, she didn't seem too willing to start anything serious with him."

"She's naturally like that! She's always been quiet and shy and withdrawing!"

"It didn't appear that way to me. Not to Harry, either."

"Oh, for god's sake, you dragged Harry into_ believing _you?"

"I didn't say anything about dragging. He was suspecting it himself."

"That's not—that can't be true! You and I both saw how he was to Cho, up to the night before he left."

"And I saw how they were when she left his house."

"But…but how could you still just assume that Cho wasn't reciprocating Harry's feelings? How could you not suspect instead that she was just shy?" Hermione pressed.

"I just didn't want my friend to get hurt, the way he has been before."

Hermione opened her mouth. Closed it. Thought of Luna. "Okay. I guess I can understand that, wanting the best for a friend. But you're still to blame for my sister's heartache. You can't imagine how upset she's been. She doesn't tell me anything, but I know she's convinced herself that she somehow blew it."

Draco looked at her evenly, then abruptly turned his face away.

Hermione prodded on, the anger flaring. "And then there's what Zabini said—"

All appearance, real or fake, of sorrow, of pain, vanished from Draco's face, and he turned slowly to face Hermione. His eyes crackled with electricity. "Zabini?" He spat.

"Yes, Zabini." Hermione felt part of her mind pulling her back, warning her that it was dangerous water she was treading in. But she pushed on. She had to find out, for herself.

"And what did Zabini have to say about me?"

"That after your father died, you immediately withdrew into a shell, and withheld your inheritance from Zabini when he asked for financial aid to attend college, even though the two of you had been childhood friends—"

"College?" Draco spat. "_College_? Do you know what Zabini wanted to do? He wanted to join the army! The _army_! He wanted to earn money as fast, as quickly, as he could, and he thought he'd just skip over college and join the _army_!"

"That's not what he told me."

"And you believe him? You'd believe him over me?"

"Why not?" Hermione was breathless. So was Draco.

"Because you don't know him any more than you know me."

"I know neither of you."

"So how could you trust who to believe? What made you believe him and not me?"

"Because you called me dull."

"Called you—oh, come on. Did I keep up that impression throughout the rest of my visit?"

"It doesn't matter anymore. After what you did to Cho—"

"It was for Harry's good!"

"I don't believe you."

"Then what will make you believe me? Tell me, what will?"

Hermione stared at Draco, silent. Both were red-faced, fiery despite the cold, despite the calming snowflakes just beginning to flutter through the air.

"I don't know," Hermione said softly.

Draco threw up his hands. "Great. That's great. So there's no way I can prove to you that I'm not the scum of the earth?"

"There's no way for you to prove to me anything," Hermione said.

"And this is all because I started off on the wrong foot with you?" Draco said, dismayed. "Do you know how hypocritical you're being? Do you realize that you're judging my honesty, my integrity, off of the little you know about me? And do you realize that you've just criticized me of doing the same to Cho?"

Hermione remained silent, staring at Draco defiantly. Draco looked at her, raging, then pleading. Then he looked away. When he looked back at her, he was calm, collected.

"Is there nothing I can do to prove that I'm being honest? Is that really true?"

Hermione shook her head slowly. "I don't know," she said softly. She was captivated by his eyes, the depth of maturity and pain and secrets and possibly integrity, the integrity that she wanted so much to believe in, the caring that she wanted so much to really exist, to really—

Draco nodded. Stood up. "Good day, then." And he was leaving. And he was gone.

Hermione watched as the snowflakes slowly grew larger and larger, as they slowly filled Draco's footsteps in the snow-covered ground, slowly covered the broken promise she'd made to herself only the night before, slowly covered everything in a blanket of unsettling white.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: This one is a little shorter than the rest. It was stunted by the possibility of a math exam tomorrow.

Quick shout-out to **MegAnne Cormack** for the love :D -insert nonsensical gushing about following MegAnne's example here-

And now, time for more-sleep-I-mean-studying.

-Sanded Silk-


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N**: Chapter 7. If this chapter takes a long time getting done, it will be because I was struggling with writing out romantic tension.

**Disclaimer**: Nomine.

-Sanded Silk-

* * *

><p>"Hermione? Hermione. Maggie said you didn't appear at work."<p>

"I never made it there," Hermione mumbled, brushing past Cho after having kicked off her snow-toed boots.

Cho followed closely, concerned. "Hermione, what's—"

"Just—" Hermione turned around, putting up a hand to stop Cho. Tried to ignore the hurt in Cho's eyes.

"Just—leave me alone," Hermione said, lamely. Cho looked at her sister, confused, and nodded, backing away a step. Hermione knew she was going to regret it if she walked away without apologizing, but she did so anyway, running up the stairs two at a time and locking her bedroom door as she stepped inside.

_Oh, God_.

Hermione sat down hard on her bed, ignoring the fact that she was getting dirty melted snow all over her sheets, and buried her face deep into her hands. Her stomach churned. Her mind whirled. Her hair was as untamable as ever.

How was she going to fix this? How was she going to face Cho, deal with her meddling family, banish Harry and Draco and everyone else from her mind, patch herself up in time for school?

Zabini could have lied. But Draco could have too. Luna was gone, far away. Cho—couldn't handle knowing. Parents? Hah. Neville…why on earth would she think of Neville, now of all times?

Hermione picked at her hair, trying to calm down, trying to think clearly.

There was no one to turn to.

-o-o-

The doorbell rang. It was early morning, and Hermione hadn't slept a wink. The circles under her eyes prominent, she got up slowly from her bed, untangling himself from her pillow, and somehow found her way down the stairs. Taking a deep breath, she unlocked the door and opened it.

And slammed it back closed.

Draco said nothing, only waited patiently, head slightly bowed. Hermione stood with both hands on the door, holding it shut, biting her lip. Eventually, the impropriety of making a visitor wait outside on a cold morning took over her inhibitions. Still hesitant to open the door, she listened for his receding footsteps, his knock, his voice; anything.

"Please," he said, finally, his voice barely audible.

She opened the door a crack, trying to ignore the shaking in her knees. Despite herself, she dragged in the sight of his face. Like her, he had dark bags hanging underneath his eyes. He looked at her with serious weariness.

"Will you step outside for a moment? I need to talk to you."

"What more do you have to say to me?" Hermione asked.

"Just come outside."

Thinking it would be quick, Hermione slipped on her boots over her jeans—she hadn't changed her clothes from last night—and slipped out the door, keeping it open a sliver behind her.

Draco kept his voice conspiratorially low. "I'm leaving today, before noon. I dropped by to clear a few things up."

"There isn't—"

"Just let me talk. Please."

Hermione glared up at Draco from beneath her frazzled halo of hair, and nodded once.

Draco sighed. "Two things you accused me of doing. Hurting Cho, and hurting Zabini. I don't deny that I hurt Cho, but I did so out of concern for my friend. I had to pick between the two, and I picked Harry. I hope you can understand that."

Hermione sighed, nodded. "Go on."

"About what Zabini told you. He did not intend to go to college at all. He was going to join the army, but something kept him from doing it—I think he was too short, or something."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, though she thought to herself; Zabini was pretty short.

"What I didn't tell you was…" Draco stopped, rubbed a hand through his hair, obviously uneasy.

"Yes?" Hermione prodded.

"What I didn't tell you was what Zabini…did…to my sister."

Hermione frowned. "Ginny?" She asked.

"Yes. Ginny." Draco sighed wearily at the mention of his sister's name. He scrutinized a nearby pile of snow for a moment, and met Hermione's gaze again.

"After my father left, Zabini actually inherited part of my father's money. That was how close Zabini was to us. But shortly after he got the money, Zabini left. I assumed he went off to college, though I thought it was strange that he didn't tell me. A few months later, he came back to me, unannounced, saying that he'd been robbed and needed more money to start up his life again. I gave him some, of course. I couldn't refuse."

Draco looked pained as he said this. Hermione nodded at him to go on.

"After I gave him how much he asked for, he disappeared again. Came back about a year later. This time, he claimed to be madly in love with Ginny."

_Huh_?

"When I discovered from one of his friends that Zabini had actually gambled his money away, I confronted my sister. She began to cry, and confessed that she had been planning to elope with him within a few days. She'd really fallen in love with him."

Draco rubbed his forehead, closed his eyes. "She was only sixteen."

"Sixteen?" Hermione whispered. Padma was sixteen.

"Yes. When I tried to approach Zabini, he was furious with me. He left. I never saw him again, until a week ago, when he was at your house. I'm not sure how he met your cousin, but…" Draco lifted his hands, let them flap to his sides, as if surrendering to what had happened. "There you have it. I promise you, that is the truth about what happened between Zabini and myself. You can ask Ron for confirmation; he was there with me when I confronted Zabini."

Hermione leaned against the frame of her doorway. It was biting cold outside; the air was snipping at her through her sweater. But she wasn't ready to run inside. Not yet.

"And how can I believe you?" She asked.

"You'd believe Ron, wouldn't you?"

"I hardly know him."

"You hardly know Zabini. Or me."

Hermione shrugged slowly. "I don't know, then." But if you can think of a way—any way at all—

Draco looked slightly angry, and immensely tired. His hands were limp at his sides.

"Okay, then," he finally said. "Okay."

He ran a hand through his silvery-blond hair, mussing it slightly. Shook his head. And then he turned around and left.

-o-o-

"Hermione?" Cho's voice floated through Hermione's door.

Hermione cleared her throat as quietly as she could. "Hm? Yeah?"

"Aunt and Uncle Weasley are here."

Hermione turned around in her bed so violently that she nearly threw herself off the mattress.

"What? Why are they here?" After the Neville incident—

"Don't you remember? They said they were going to visit us this winter break, before I had to go back to school."

"…Oh."

"Do you remember?"

"…_Oh_. I remember, yeah. Hold on, I'll be right outside."

"Okay. Um, Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you all right?"

Hermione looked away from the door. "Are _you_ all right?" She countered.

"Of course I am," Cho said, "but I'm really worried about you. You're not telling me something. Who was at the door this morning?"

"I don't know, I didn't answer it."

"Really? Because I heard you trudging back upstairs, muttering to yourself," Cho said.

Hermione sighed. "All right, I answered it. But it wasn't…exactly…someone I…wanted to see."

"Please, tell me who it was, Hermione."

"Cho. Can you never bring this up again? Ever?"

In the silence that followed, both girls held their breath.

Finally, Cho released her breath with a sigh. "Fine. I won't bring it up again. But if you ever feel like you need to talk to someone, or maybe you need advice—"

"When I want to talk about my troubles, I go directly to you, Cho. You should know that by now."

Cho gave a quick, tired laugh. "Thank you, Hermione. Anyway, come out as soon as possible. They're waiting downstairs."

Hermione grunted an agreement through the sweater she was pulling over her head, and emerged from her room shortly after.

"Hermione!" Aunt Molly and Uncle Arthur smiled up at her as she ran down the stairs.

"Aunt, Uncle, you have no idea how glad I am to see you," Hermione said, smiling genuinely for the first time in days. Besides her sister, her aunt and uncle were two of her closest friends in the world; miraculously, they hadn't completely lost touch with their younger selves the way most adults had.

"We heard about Neville from your mother, and we had to come down and see how you guys were faring."

"Oh. That." Hermione sighed, scratching her neck and looking quickly at her father. "Um, we're coping, I guess. It wasn't that big a deal," Hermione assured her concerned aunt and uncle.

"Well, we did promise we were going to visit during your winter break, so here we are regardless."

"That's great," Hermione smiled. "Are you guys just passing through to somewhere else, or this your final destination?"

"We were actually going to go to Falls Park after visiting you guys," Aunt Molly said thoughtfully.

Hermione nodded, then realized that someone was missing. "Um, Dad, Mom, where's Lavender?"

"Oh, Lavender. She isn't home right now; I think she's off with some guy," Mrs. Bertram shrugged.

"Some guy? What guy?"

"Oh, it was…I don't remember his name, but it was that young man who came with Neville the other day. Bl—Blah—"

"Blaise? Zabini?" Hermione felt a choke rising in her throat, and fought it back down.

"Yes, that's it. They went to see a movie, I believe. His arrival was quite sudden, but he and Lavender have…erm, really 'hit it off,' as you young people put it."

"Dad, did you know this?" Hermione demanded. Her father shook his head no, looking utterly bemused. "I thought Lavender ran off to replenish her stock of make-up, or something."

Hermione rounded on her mother. "Mom, we don't know anything about Zabini! For all you know, he could be some—some sadistic—"

"Now, Hermione, I'm sure Blaise is a perfectly normal young man. And did you not see the Rolex watch he was wearing? He did say he was working at a law firm."

"Mom, you let Lavender run off with some guy because he was wearing a Rolex? For all you know, he could have stolen it!"

"Hermione, I'm sure your sister can handle herself," Hermione's father cut in calmly. "Besides, she's getting older now. Too old for her parents to run around after her, watching out for her constantly. She has to learn some lessons in life on her own."

"That's not what you said when Faris invited me to the dance back in tenth grade."

"But—"

"Or when Bill asked Cho out to a baseball game. Or—"

"Hermione—"

"What they're trying to say, Hermione," Aunt Molly cut in, eyes twinkling, "is that at this point, they're far too lazy to keep up with their children. There are four of you young ladies, each old enough to have a mind of her own, and there are only two of your poor parents. At one point, they had the energy to micro-manage; now, not so much. Your sisters will have to learn about propriety in a more hands-on way than you and Cho did."

Hermione felt her stomach clamp at the thought of Zabini with his arm around the air-headed, giggly Lavender. Even though she didn't know much about him at all, even though she truly didn't care for her sister that much, Draco's words, Draco's intent grey eyes, floated through the back of her mind. She opened her mouth to tell them about Draco's story of Zabini's past, but closed her mouth almost immediately; Draco might not appreciate the entire Bertram family knowing about Ginny's brush with catastrophe and disgrace.

"Do you know which theater they went to? Which movie they're watching?"

"They said they were going to decide when they got there."

"Did Zabini explain why he came to see us so suddenly?"

"He just said he wanted to see Lavender."

"But doesn't that strike any of you as odd? At all? He and Lavender barely looked at each other when he and Neville visited." _This time, he claimed to be madly in love with Ginny…_

"I did try to stop them, at least make them wait a bit before running out," Cho volunteered quietly. "But Blaise was very intent on leaving."

Hermione's thoughts fluttered between Zabini and Lavender and Draco. Was Zabini planning something? Some way to strike at Draco? Was he trying to do this through Lavender?

The phone rang. Hermione, being the closest, picked it up and held it to her ear, still buried in her thoughts.

"Hello?" She mumbled haphazardly.

"Hermione? Are you out of bed at last?"

"Lavender! Where are you? Are you really with Zabini?"

"Yes, I'm with Blaise. We're…er, we just left the theater."

"Are you guys coming home right now? I need to—"

"Listen, 'Mione, about that. Blaise and I…we're going to be out all day. He wants me to show him around town—he wants to go to the zoo, the park—"

"Put him on the line, Lavender."

"He's—"

"_Put him on the line._"

"Okay."

There was a muffled voice, and then a giggle, and then Zabini's voice filled Hermione's head.

"H'lo? This is Hermione, right?"

"Yes. Zabini—"

"Listen, Hermione. Lavender and I, we're going to be out for a few more hours. If you could just tell her parents for me, that would—"

Hermione lowered her voice and turned away from her family's questioning stares.

"Zabini, I want to make one thing clear to you. Whatever your relationship with Draco, you are _not_ going to involve my family in whatever you're planning, all right?"

There was a long, terrible silence.

"What'd he tell you about me?" Zabini asked, all traces of cheer gone from his voice.

"Enough."

"And you trust him? He's a—"

"I'm tired of Draco asking me whether I trust you, and of you asking me whether I trust Draco, and of me asking whether I trust either of you. I just want you to know that if I suspect you're using Lavender in some way to get back at Draco, or something stupid and personal like that, I'll take my mother's embroidery scissors and, ah, collect myself some Zabini family jewels. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, my dear."

"And you better—"

_Click_.

Hermione hung up the phone after listening to the dial tone for a moment, and suddenly noticed how fast her heart was beating, how light-headed she felt.

Cho appeared beside her. "Did I hear you say something about collecting Zabini family jewels?" Cho whispered, dismayed.

Hermione gave her sister the best weirded-out look she could muster. "Why would I say that?"

Turning back to the rest of the family, Hermione said, "It seems that they've decided to stay out for the rest of the day."

"What? Doing what?"

"I don't know, exactly. Lavender mentioned something about a park, and the zoo."

While the rest of the family broke out into arguments over the implications of Lavender's and Zabini's unforeseen date, Hermione picked her way across the room, straight for the stairs. As she went, she was stopped by her aunt.

"Listen, Hermione. Your uncle and I—well, we're on our way to Falls Park, as you know, and we were wondering if you'd like to go there with us. I wasn't going to ask you, but…you seem a little wound up. Am I right?"

A little wound up? What an understatement. "Yeah, I guess I am a little stressed," Hermione sighed.

"So would you like to come? You'd have to ask your parents, of course."

"Sure, I'd love to come along. I'll ask them right now." The prospect of leaving everything behind and spending a few days away from the world appealed to Hermione, more so than usual. She picked her way across the room to her parents.

-o-o-

The car ride made Hermione unnaturally carsick. She had to ask her uncle to stop the car at least twice, in order for her to hang the upper half of her body out the car door and to allow the cold winter air to blast her across the face.

When they finally made it to Falls Park, they checked into the park hotel. As Aunt and Uncle Weasley searched the map for a nearby restaurant, having just been informed that their regular restaurant was being remodeled, Hermione slipped out of the hotel to sit by the base of the main waterfall for a bit.

Even in the winter, with the feet-high snow and the pale grey sky, Hermione found the waterfalls to be as majestic and mysterious as they seemed with the lush green backdrop of mid-summer. She sat on a slightly-wet rock and inhaled the aroma of falling, crashing water, of crisp winter air. It cleared her head, settled her heart, made her calmer than she'd been in the past week.

As she calmed down, Draco fluttered into her mind, and she was able to approach the thought of him without losing control of any vital bodily functions.

She had to decide what to do with the entire situation spinning wildly around her. She had been evading this thought for days, but in the presence of the crashing, constant waterfall, she felt able to at least confront the reality of the situation.

She could just trust Draco.

Doing so would make everything so much simpler. It would allow her to hate Zabini; it would allow her to forgive Harry, to pull him back to Cho; it would allow her to…er, fancy Draco without feeling like she was doing something wrong.

But it couldn't be that simple. Life was never so simple, not for anyone. Draco was not to be trusted, at least not entirely. Although he seemed honest, and direct, and caring, there were still worlds within him that he kept hidden from everyone else, from Hermione. She felt—she knew—that there were secrets, immense and painful, he continued to hold within him, to shield from prying eyes. Was it to protect himself? To protect his family? To protect everyone around him? Whatever the reason, he kept several things well-hidden—too well-hidden for Hermione to feel safe trusting him.

She sighed, and her head filled with the vapors of the crisp waterfall. At least she was able to sort out her feelings a little more clearly. But the correct course of action was still being elusive, still hovering in the shadows.

"Hermione?" Aunt Molly came up to Hermione, struggling through the untamed snow. Hermione turned around, and smiled at her approaching aunt.

"Your uncle and I just found out that the Malfoy property is extremely close by to our hotel! The people here tell us that the Malfoy property is especially beautiful in the winter, and that their house is open these days for visitors. Would you like to go? You know who the Malfoys are, right?"

"The Malfoy—" Hermione felt as if a wall had risen between her and the waterfall.

"Yes, the Malfoy property. You know, the Malfoys. The current master is Draco Malfoy, I believe. He's just about your age, probably a little older. I don't believe he's home, which is too bad, but his sister is home, and does periodically host tours of their home. Your uncle has always wanted to visit their gardens, though I suspect he just wants to fish in their fish ponds. Anyway, what do you say? We're here, we might as well." Aunt Molly was practically buzzing with excitement.

Hermione had never heard her aunt talk so much in one breath. Her mind spun from the barrage of words, and from the mere mention of the name Malfoy.

"Wait," Hermione said suddenly. "How would we go fishing if it's the middle of winter? I thought ice-fishing was dangerous this far south—"

"Oh, trust me, your uncle will find a way. Now come along, we'd have to get going now if we're to get you home on schedule."

"But I've only been here at the falls themselves for five minutes—!"

"We'll come back if there's time, don't worry."

"If there's time? What else would we—"

"Do you not want to go?"

"I don't want to go. Not at all." Hermione automatically shook her head no at the question.

"Why not?"

"Why? Be—cause—…" Hermione clamped her mouth shut. What could she say without giving away too much?

"Be—Because the Malfoys are just so rich," Hermione finally finished. Aunt Molly looked confused and unconvinced.

"Please, can't we just stay here a while longer?" Hermione pleaded. "We have to leave tomorrow at noon. It's not much time at all."

"All right, I suppose I can stall your uncle for another fifteen minutes or so," Aunt Molly grumbled as she turned back for the car.

-o-o-

Needless to say, Hermione was a mess by the time they arrived at the Malfoy mansion. She told herself repeatedly that Draco wasn't home, that everyone was saying he wasn't home, but it wasn't helping her nerves at all.

At the mansion door, Hermione suddenly felt a sickening wave of déjà vu. She'd been in this exact situation, only days ago, right before meeting Grandfather Bertram. Hermione swallowed the lump of apprehension with the bile, and somehow forced her limbs to take her into the house, led by her aunt and uncle and a fairly dispassionate maid.

"Hello?" An uncertain voice bounced between the walls of the luxurious front hall. From the top of the marble-and-gold staircase, draped in thick Persian rugs, emerged a thin teenage girl with bony wrists, straight red hair, and a spattering of freckles.

"Hello! You must be…er…Miss Ginny?" Uncle Arthur called awkwardly up to the redhead figure.

The girl smiled. "Yup, that's me. You must be the unannounced visitors that one of my micro-managing maids was complaining about."

Aunt Molly looked horrified. "Oh, my goodness! I'm so sorry if we caused—"

Waving her hand and laughing, Ginny said, "No, no, I was joking. Everyone here is very glad to see you, especially in the middle of winter, when hardly anyone comes by."

Ginny skipped down the stairs with surprising agility. When she landed on the bottom floor, Hermione observed that she was wearing jeans, rainbow socks, and a plain zip-up hoodie over an aquamarine t-shirt with an orange kitten scrawled across the front. Combined with that sunny smile and freckled face and mussed red hair, Ginny resembled Ron much more than Draco. She looked…not rich. At all. And at complete odds with her stoic brother.

"You're Ginny?" Hermione said incredulously before she could stop herself.

"Yes, I am. Why? Is it that hard to imagine?" Ginny said, pleasantly puzzled.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean to imply—no, I just met your—er—your brother recently, and—"

Ginny's face instantly lit up. "Draco? You met Draco? Whoa! He did _not_ mention anything about meeting a girl—unless you're Hermione? Hermione Bertram?"

Hermione blinked, surprised. "You know who I am?"

"Oh my gosh, you're Hermione, then? Draco's mentioned you in his letters."

"Oh. That's…" Hermione trailed off, unable to find the right adjective.

Ginny opened her mouth to say more, but seemed to remember—just in time—that a bemused uncle and suspicious aunt were looking on carefully.

"I'll tell you about it some other time," Ginny said, smiling brightly. Hermione nodded, relieved.

"Soo, come this way! We'll take a look at the living room fir—oh yeah. Ahem. 'Welcome to the Malfoy Mansion. The Malfoy household is always happy to welcome visitors. My name is Genevieve Malfoy, and I will be your guide today,'" Ginny recited robotically. Then she smiled a big, sarcastic smile, and skipped on, red hair flying, the holes in her socks flashing periodically.

Hermione was certain now that she had been thrown into some alternate universe. How on earth was this sarcastic, openly expressive, jumpy little redhead related in any way to Draco Malfoy?

"Not to be rude or anything, Ginny, but are you certain you're related by blood to Draco?" Hermione called, tailing after the rapidly-disappearing redhead.

Maids folding tablecloths in a nearby room stopped working and stared at Hermione. Ginny stopped skipping and turned around, her eyes and mouth round as dinner plates.

_Oh crap_. Hermione wanted to slap a hand to her mouth.

"I'm so sorry, I—"

Ginny burst out laughing.

_Wha?_

"Oh my gosh! None of Draco's friends have ever dared ask me that before," Ginny managed to say as she relished in her glee. Uncle Arthur and Aunt Molly, looking horrified up to this point, looked at each other for a moment before emitting nervous, high-pitched giggles of their own.

Once her breathing returned to normal—more or less—Ginny looked up at Hermione, still smiling widely.

"Yes, we are related, my big brother and I. In public, he can be the quietest, most stuck-up person in the world, but at home he's nothing like that. He can be rather like me on the rare occasion."

"Draco? _Laughing_?" Hermione stuttered, awestruck at the thought. Ginny burst into giggles again.

"I can see why he must have taken such an interest to you! You're not quite like the millions of sycophants he encounters every day," Ginny said appreciatively.

Aunt Molly sidled up to Hermione. "Hermione, dear, you didn't tell me you were seeing the heir to the Malfoy property."

"I'm not seeing him!" Hermione's voice went up several notches. But Aunt Molly snickered, and Hermione found confusion and anger surging in her throat. She blinked, yanked her arm from Aunt Molly's grasp, and swallowed several times to stop the explosion.

"They're not seeing each other, don't worry," Ginny said to Aunt Molly reassuringly. "If they were, I'd know for sure."

"What did he…" Hermione paused, moistened her lips. She wasn't sure if she should ask in front of her aunt and uncle, but…

"What did he say about me?"

"He said you're intelligent, amusing, and especially funny when you're delirious."

"He's seen you _delirious_?" Aunt Molly exclaimed loudly. Hermione desperately shushed her, glaring.

"And he also called you 'good-looking,' which he doesn't call many girls," Ginny whispered to Hermione, winking.

"What? What did she say?" Aunt Molly shrieked, hating to be left out of a secret. But Ginny shook her head and skipped on.

"Now, then. The living room…"

-o-o-

The living room was by far the most impressive, with its elaborate, ceiling-to-floor windows and thick curtains, its impressionistic color palette, a hint of mahogany whispering beneath the rich brown of the hardwood flooring.

But the piano room was Hermione's favorite, secretly, because it contained a portrait of a much-younger Draco, sitting with his then-baby sister, both happily open-faced. Even better, next to that portrait hung another of Draco by himself, about the age he was now, looking much less expressive, an ocean more mature. He wasn't looking directly at the viewer, which made Hermione want to adjust her own position, to find the spot he was staring at and stand in it and stare back.

Such a sudden turn of attitude toward Draco, such inconstancy. But Hermione couldn't help herself. After having heard from Draco's own sister the kinds of things he said about Hermione, Hermione couldn't help but feel…flattered. And intrigued, to be sure.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he had roped Ginny into lying to Hermione, and had described Hermione's appearance in detail to Ginny so that if ever the two should meet, Ginny would recognize Hermione immediately, and commence mission Fool Hermione—

But 1) that was highly unlikely, due to the almost-paranoid nature of such a scheme, and 2) it was just more enjoyable to think that Draco had really said what Ginny said he'd said, and had meant it, word for word.

Hermione found what she thought was the spot that portrait Draco was staring at, and stood in it, staring back intently. The artist didn't seem to quite capture the taper of Draco's shoulders, the gleam inherent in his luminescent hair, the intense grey of his eyes, the lanky gracefulness of his legs. But the artist did somehow lend to Draco a more relaxed, more carefree air, at least as relaxed and carefree as Draco could get.

They were coming down the stairs, just about done with the tour—oh, wait, Uncle Arthur wanted to see the kitchen—when the front door swung open, and in swept a fluttering of snowflakes—and Draco.

Hermione clung to the railing to keep herself from falling off the stairs, and stared at Draco as if she'd never seen him before. Draco lurched through the door, fighting through the newly-falling snow, and shoved the door closed behind him.

He turned around. "Hey, Gi—"

When he saw Hermione, he stopped short. Stared.

Hermione tore her eyes away immediately, ashamed to be caught in his house by him, afraid of giving the impression that she'd somehow chased him here.

"Hermione?" He said quietly.

"H-Hi," she replied, equally quietly.

Draco shook off his coat, handed it to a maid standing nearby, who hustled off to shake the snow from it. He then turned back to Hermione, and crossed the room to the base of the staircase, where he stood waiting for her to come down the rest of the stairs. His face was extremely gentle, but still as tired as ever.

Hermione realized that everyone was staring at her. Swallowing quickly, she loosened her grip on the railing just enough to let her slide her hand down the rest of the way. She descended the stairs in jerky movements, and stood next to Draco awkwardly, wanting to meet his eyes but unable to.

"How are you doing?" Draco asked, almost inaudibly.

"I'm fine. How're you?" Hermione replied, equally inaudibly. She dared to look up at his face again, and lost herself in his gaze for just a moment. She wanted to run away, to hide her head in a pile of unforgivingly-cold snow; but at the same time, she wanted to pause time, to stand like this, close and quiet with Draco, just for awhile longer.

"I'm doing fine, thanks," Draco said. He tilted his head slightly, asking a silent question.

Finally unable to take the eye contact, Hermione looked away. The awkwardness—and the hovering feeling that this awkwardness was somehow her fault—kept worming its way into the atmosphere.

Draco must have felt it too, because he took a step away from Hermione and addressed the rest of the people in the room, who had been holding their breaths. Through her halo of hair, Hermione stared at Draco openly, hungrily, in case he looked back at her, in which case she'd have to look away again.

He was here. Within sight, within earshot, within reach.

Hermione resisted the urge to run up to him and touch his sleeve as he led everyone closer to the front door, offering to show Uncle Arthur the fishing lake nearby.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: I'm sorry this chapter took so long, exams/other things popped out of nowhere. To make it up to you all, I've lengthened this chapter. Sorry again D:

I always hated how Mr. Darcy righted things through a letter, and not in person. If it had been in person, it would have added a lot more sincerity to the scene. =/

Anyways. Thanks again to **MegAnne Cormack** for the kind reviews! Really keeps up my motivation to finish this story! 3

Done while listening to "Darkness Darkness" by Solas. Truly a beautiful song.

-Sanded Silk-


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N**: Chapter 8.

**Disclaimer**: Nmn.

-Sanded Silk-

* * *

><p>Somehow, Hermione found herself sandwiched between her aunt and Draco at a local restaurant for dinner, after a whole afternoon of fruitless fishing in the biting cold winter air at an inert lake. Ginny had joined them, placing a maid in charge at the mansion—a maid who turned out to be the micro-managing one, as Ginny pointed out later to Hermione, giggling.<p>

While they ate, Ginny asked Hermione loudly to describe how she first met Draco.

Aunt Molly and Uncle Arthur, relieved at not having to bring the subject up themselves, sided heavily with Ginny through mouthfuls of potato salad and beef stew, respectively.

There was a long silence, broken here and there by hesitant swallowing of half-chewed food.

"Um," Hermione said, staring down at her plate. "He was visiting Worchester, my hometown, with Potter."

"Harry?"

"Yes. We formally met at the party that the Wickersons threw for the birthday of their baby."

"Oh," Ginny said, smiling and nodding as if this tidbit of information explained the existence of the universe.

Hermione quickly stuffed another piece of beef into her mouth, to avoid having to talk. Draco quickly followed suit. Ginny looked at the two, shrugged, and proceeded to down the rest of her water. Aunt Molly looked between the three, visibly disappointed.

"So, Hermione," Ginny said upon putting down her glass. "Would you tell me, ah, whether Pansy was still hanging on to Draco's every word or not?"

Hermione suppressed a nervous laugh. "Yeah. More like to every limb, really."

Draco looked away, embarrassed.

Ginny's eyes twinkled. "I remember the last time I saw Pansy with Draco. Her adoration of him was absolutely sickening. And her adoration of his _wallet_—I'll just say the poor wallet still has lip grease all over it, for all I know."

"It's true," Draco said quietly, smiling. Hermione dared to look up at him.

Then, Aunt Molly's cell phone rang. As she fumbled for it, Hermione's phone rang. As the two fumbled for their phones, Uncle Arthur's cell phone rang as well.

There was a buzzing of mumbled, confused curses, as the three pulled out their cell phones and answered them.

"Hello?"

"Hermione, Lavender—"

"Molly, you've got to come—"

"Uncle Arthur, why didn't you answer the hotel phone?"

"But—"

"Lavender's—"

"I think—"

"We don't—"

"—ran away. Off—"

Hermione looked up at her aunt and uncle. They were looking at her.

"What did you say?" Hermione said quietly into her phone.

"It's Lavender," Cho replied, wearily. "She's…er…run off with Zabini."

"What do you mean, she's run off?"

"With Zabini. She left. She called us a minute ago, and she's not answering her cell phone anymore."

"…Are you serious?" Hermione looked up at her aunt and uncle. From the way their faces were blanching, she knew that they knew.

"What? What's going on?" Ginny looked around, confused. Draco put down his fork and frowned concernedly at Hermione.

"Okay, Cho, we're on our way home." Hermione hung up her cell phone, and looked up at her aunt and uncle.

"Um, we have to go home. Now," Hermione said, to no one in particular, rising from her seat.

"Yeah." Aunt Molly and Uncle Arthur nodded and stood up as well, looking dazed.

"Hold on." Hermione felt Draco's hand clamp around her arm. She sat down, unable to fight back.

"What's going on?" Draco asked, quietly.

"Lavender." Hermione heaved a deep, choked sigh. "She's…uh…run off. With some guy."

"With Bl—"

"No." Hermione reached out and flapped her hand at her aunt, who stopped, looking confused.

"With some guy. I don't know who it is, but Cho said she'd explain it to me when I got home," Hermione clarified through her teeth.

"O…kay." Ginny looked at Draco, who shrugged back. But when Ginny turned away to call a waiter, Draco got up and followed Hermione out of earshot.

"Who's the guy?" Draco asked.

"I said I don't—"

"Don't think you can fool me, Hermione."

Hermione sighed, rubbed a hand over her face. So much for visiting the falls.

"Lavender's run off with Zabini."

Hermione could hear Draco's face fall. "Oh, god."

"They don't know where the two could have gone. Draco—"

Draco put a hand on her shoulder, silently, and nodded.

"I think…I might be able…" Draco looked over Hermione's head, at something far away. His eyes were narrowed grey slits. When he looked down at Hermione, his gaze was focused, intense.

"I've gotta go. Good luck with finding Lavender," Draco said, and walked back to the table to sign off on the bill before leaving through the front door.

Hermione began to get some feeling in her legs, and was walking for the door as well when she realized that—she'd—

Hermione lifted a hand to her mouth. She'd called him Draco instead of Malfoy.

"Oop." Hermione craned her neck to see out the glass front door, straining for a glimpse of Draco. But he'd gone, was out of sight.

A sudden thought occurred to Hermione, and she lurched back around to the table, where Ginny was gathering up her coat and talking happily with a waiter.

"Ginny, can I talk to you for a sec?"

Ginny looked at Hermione. "Sure. What—" She stopped short when Hermione dropped into a nearby chair, looking half-dead.

"What's wrong?" Ginny asked, sitting down beside Hermione. The waiter wisely scampered off.

"Ginny, I want to ask you about something that might be…too personal for you to talk about. But it's okay if you don't want to answer, it's not a problem, it's just—I have to—ask—"

"Ask what?"

Hermione dragged in a breath, held it, let it out in a rush. "Were you…ah…hurt when you were sixteen…by…a…Blaise Zabini?"

Ginny's face froze.

_Oh no_.

"It's okay if you don't want to answer, like I said—"

"Draco told you?" Ginny asked quietly. Hermione nodded.

"Well, then. If Draco trusts you enough to tell you, then I guess—"

Aunt Molly ran in then. "Hermione? Are you coming?"

"Just a sec, Aunt Molly, I'll be out in a sec."

"All right." Aunt Molly bustled out of the room.

Ginny looked at Hermione, all glee gone from her face. "Tell me what Draco told you."

"All right." Hermione relayed everything she knew to Ginny—about Zabini's and Draco's initial closeness, about how Zabini had planned to go to the army, about how he didn't end up doing that, about how he returned and pledged his love for Ginny. And about how he'd told a counter story to Hermione before Draco could explain.

Ginny nodded, looking sick. "Everything's true," she whispered.

Hermione's heart plummeted.

"Did Draco leave anything out?"

"He left out all the insults Zabini threw at him."

"…Oh." Hermione scratched the back of her neck.

"How did you meet Zabini? If you did, I mean," Ginny asked.

"He came over with my cousin to visit us a few days ago. Ever heard of a Neville Longbottom?"

"No. _Longbottom_?" Ginny looked incredulous, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Oh! I'm sorry. That was—I'm sure Neville is nice—"

Hermione snickered. "Don't worry about insulting me. I don't like Longbottom much. So…everything Draco told me…" Hermione trailed off.

"Yes. It's all true."

"Okay," Hermione sighed. She couldn't begin to wonder what this might mean for Lavender.

-o-o-

As soon as Hermione got home, she went to check on her mother, who reportedly was bedridden. Of course, Mrs. Bertram took this the worst out of everyone; she couldn't bear to think that her dear, sweet Lavender had run off with some other young man whom the Bertrams weren't even familiar with at all.

"Oh, Hermione, you're home at least."

"Yes, Mom. How're you?"

"How am I? What does it look like? Lavender will be the death of me, I swear. Tell me, Hermione, do you think she left because I did something? Do you remember anything I could have—"

"Mom, it's all Zabini, believe me. It couldn't have been you, or anyone else. Lavender fell head-over-heels for a stranger with great hair, fell hard enough to run off like him like a child promised candy. It's her own stupidity that got her into all this."

Mrs. Bertram only whimpered.

"Padma," Hermione said, turning to her youngest sister, "do you know anything about where they could be?"

Padma shook her head mournfully. "I don't know. They went out for that day-long date, before any of us could talk to them, and they haven't come back since."

Hermione turned around in a circle. "Where's Cho, and Dad?"

"Dad said he would ask Uncle Arthur to help him go around Worchester looking for Lavender and Zabini. Cho's…I'm not sure where she is, actually. Probably in her room."

"Let me go find Cho," Hermione said, running out of the room then. It was time to tell Cho everything.

-o-o-

It took a full hour for Hermione to explain all the events from the day she'd gone after Luna to the moment she got home from the Falls Park trip.

When Hermione finally stopped talking, breathless, Cho was sitting on her bed limply, looking helplessly upset.

"So Draco was behind Harry's leaving?"

"Yes. Harry didn't abandon you, he was wheedled out of seeing you."

"And Draco did this…for Harry's good."

"…Apparently, yes."

"Well." Cho sighed. "It does hurt, I guess, but I understand why Draco did what he did. I was…pretty withdrawn when I was around Harry."

"But it was because you were shy!"

"But Draco couldn't have known that."

Hermione threw up her hands. "Well, regardless, I'm not sure what's going to happen with Harry for now. All I know is that some revenge-driven nemesis of Malfoy's got his hands around Lavender's neck as we speak."

"Draco knows about this, you said?"

"Yes."

"Did he offer any solutions? Any possible places where Blaise could be?"

"No. When I told him about this, he just…left the restaurant in a hurry." Hermione frowned. "Come to think of it, he didn't ask for many details, he just ran out like he knew what he was doing."

"Maybe he's onto something," Cho said hopefully.

"If he is, I hope he finds Zabini soon," Hermione sighed. "After hearing Ginny confirm the story, I didn't know how else to not believe Draco. Unless, of course, he told his sister in advance to lie to me in case I asked—"

"That's being extremely paranoid."

"I know."

"Well, for now, it doesn't seem like we can do much besides wait around."

"If Dad is still downstairs, I'm going to ask him if I can tag along."

Cho shrugged wordlessly. Hermione inspected her sister's face closely.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"What? Why would I not?" Cho seemed genuinely confused.

"Well, after knowing about Harry, and I'm not sure if he's going to be, um, in contact with us anytime soon…"

Cho shook her head slowly. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. I promise."

"Really?"

"Yes."

Hermione looked at her sister for awhile longer.

"All right, then," Hermione said, before she headed out the door.

-o-o-

"But Dad—"

"Hermione, if you and I both leave, Cho will be the only clear-headed one left in the house, and I find that to be a frightening prospect. I need you here, to keep things in order with Cho, while I'm gone."

Hermione shook her head. If only her father knew just how clear her head actually was.

"Dad, remember that Aunt Molly is staying with us while you and Uncle Arthur are gone. Are you sure you don't want a third person looking with you?"

"Yes, I'm sure. While we comb through Worchester, anyway." Hermione knew then that her father feared the same thing as she did—that Lavender and Zabini weren't anywhere near Worchester after all.

"Well, then," Hermione said briskly, "good luck with finding Lavender, I guess. Cho and I will raise profits for Sprint © in spamming Lavender with phone calls."

"Call her friends, and ask them if they know anything, too."

"Okay. Bye Dad, bye Uncle Arthur."

"Good bye! Make sure nothing happens while we're gone!"

"Okay."

Hermione watched dejectedly as her father and her uncle climbed into their cars and drove off in opposite directions.

-o-o-

Cho hung up the phone wearily. "That was the last of them."

"Are you sure we shouldn't call Anna?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Hermione, we both know what happened between Anna and Lavender."

"Yeah, yeah, but maybe she saw them…"

"Go ahead, I guess. No harm in trying."

Hermione picked up the phonebook and the phone. As she flipped though the pages and dialed the phone, Aunt Molly walked into the room to check on the two.

"Any luck?" She asked Cho, who shook her head sadly. Aunt Molly sighed, smiled helplessly, and left the room.

Hermione hung up. "No one answered."

Cho sighed. "We'll try later, I guess."

"'Kay."

Hermione stared at the motionless cell phone in her hands. All her life, Lavender had been the air-headed, cheerleader-stereotype personality of the family. For as long as Hermione could remember, Lavender had been extremely annoying. But now that she was gone, possibly being manipulated by Zabini—a family without its cheerleader—

Hermione suppressed a shudder, and hoped fervently that Lavender would be okay.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: So, eighth chapter. Yup yup.

Is it just me, or is MegAnne Cormack my only reader? D:

-Sanded Silk-


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**: Chapter 9.

**Disclaimer**: Nm.

-Sanded Silk-

* * *

><p>Hermione wanted to bang her head on something hard, but she knew that now was not the time for such immaturity.<p>

It had been two full days since Lavender first disappeared—two full days without having heard a word from her.

Hermione lolled her head back as she sat in the sofa, surrounded by her remaining sisters, her parents, and her aunt and uncle.

"I don't get it," was all Mr. Bertram could say when he came in through the door that morning, exhausted and noticeably dejected, followed by a footsore Uncle Arthur.

Mrs. Bertram welcomed her husband into the living room, quietly, for once. And now they all sat huddled together, silent, not knowing what to say or what to do next.

"No sign of her? At all?" Hermione prodded uselessly. No one bothered answering.

Cho picked up her cell phone, stared at it for a moment, and flipped it open to call Lavender once again.

Silence in the room as Cho's phone rang. No one dared to hope that Lavender would answer.

"Lavender, please, call us," Cho replied to the answering machine. "Please, we're really worried about you. We won't come after you and drag you home, promise—we just want to talk. Lavender, why did you leave? Why aren't you calling back? Lav?"

Cho sounded as broken-hearted as everyone else looked as she hung up the phone.

Hermione reached out her hand, asking Cho silently for the cell phone. Cho handed it over without questioning.

Looking through the contacts list, Hermione found who she was looking for—Harry. Getting up and walking out of the room, she dialed Harry's number.

There were three monotone rings, and Harry's answering machine kicked in.

"Hey, this is Harry. I'm not available right now, so please leave a message and I'll get back to you. Thanks!" _Beep_.

"Harry, it's Hermione. Not Cho. Please call back as soon as you get this message."

Hermione hung up and waited. Just as she suspected he would, Harry called right back. He hadn't been "unavailable"—he'd been avoiding Cho.

"Harry?"

"Hi, Hermione. Is this…about…um…"

"It's about Zabini. Blaise Zabini? Friend of Malfoy's? Have you heard of him before?"

"Um, I think Draco's mentioned Zabini to me once or twice."

"Harry, I know all about them. You can talk freely."

"…Do you really?"

"About Zabini and Ginny, back when Ginny was sixteen—and before that—yes." Hermione nodded to herself as she spoke.

"All right, then. I guess Draco told you?" Harry sounded surprised.

"And Ginny confirmed."

"How'd you meet Ginny?"

"My aunt and uncle dragged me to the Malfoy property for a visit. Anyway, Lavender's run off with Zabini and I was—"

"_What_?"

"Yeeaah."

"Oh, this is bad. This is—oh my gosh. I'm so sorry, Hermione."

Hermione sighed. "Is Zabini that bad?"

"From what Draco's told me, yes. And I don't doubt anything Draco tells me; he's not the type to lie about something like this, much less talk about something like this in the first place. Zabini, on the other hand, throws his troubles onto anyone who cares to listen."

"I've noticed." Hermione rubbed her forehead. When Zabini told her about his "troubles," she didn't stop to wonder why he was telling her these intensely personal matters so early on in their acquaintance. She'd just followed him blindly, right into his trap.

"Okay. So what would you like me to do? Are you looking for Draco?"

"Actually, yes. Just his number."

"Okay. Hold on, I have to look through my contacts and call you back."

"Sure."

Hermione hung up and waited, agitated. Harry called back with the number, which Hermione quickly thanked him for. Hermione hung up again, with a quick "thanks-bye," and dialed Draco's number.

Halfway through dialing, Hermione hung up again to clutch at her pounding heart.

Would he answer? If he did, what would he say? What should she say? Should she start off apologizing, or pretend nothing was wrong and get down to business?

Hermione slowly redialed, and forced her hand to stay by her head as the phone rang.

Someone picked up. "Hello?"

Hermione sighed at the sound of his voice.

"Hello?"

"Oh—uh—hi. It's…um, it's Hermione."

"…Hermione."

"Y-eah. I-I got your number from Harry just now."

"Oh. Well...hi."

"Hi."

There was a long pause.

"Um. Ahm." Hermione cleared her throat. "I'm calling you about Lavender. A-and Zabini."

"Oh. Right."

"Do you know anything about where Zabini could be? Anything at all? Because—because—"

Hermione choked.

"Hermione? Are you okay?" Draco's concerned voice seemed far away, beneath her own resounding coughs. She finally got a hold of herself, and pressed the phone to her ear again, still breathing hard.

"I'm fine. I'm…yeah. But—about Zabini—"

"Yes. I actually went and checked his aunt's house, which is pretty close to Beledaire. He wasn't there. And if he's not there, then I can't help you any further."

There was a pause.

"I'm sorry," Draco grounded out, as if he were mad at himself for being of so little use.

"No, no!" Hermione shook her head vehemently. "No, please don't be sorry, you've already done much more than we could ever have asked you to."

"Even so."

Another pause.

"Okay," Hermione said, forcing herself to sound cheerful or playful or anything other than completely and utterly helpless. "Thanks anyway. I'll call you if anything happens."

"Okay."

"Thanks again."

"No problem."

"Um…bye."

"Bye."

They hung up, and Hermione collapsed backwards into her bed with exhaustion from holding in multiple nervous breakdowns. First, Draco kindly put up with Hermione's unjustified trust in Zabini; then, he endured her rage when he, out of charity for Harry, separated Harry and Cho; then, he welcomed Hermione and her aunt and uncle to his home without a second thought; and now, he'd just driven all the way up to somewhere near Beledaire—maybe even beyond—to see if he could find that air-headed Lavender.

Overcome with embarrassment, Hermione flopped a hand over her face and groaned.

-o-o-

"Hermione." Cho's disembodied voice floated through Hermione's bedroom door.

"Hm?" Hermione hardly moved an eyelash in response.

"Lavender's back."

Hermione's eyelashes whipped into motion. "WHAAT?" She yelled, scrambling out of bed.

"Yeah," Cho confirmed, barely dodging the door as Hermione swung it open wildly.

"Where is she? Tell me where she is so I can wring her head off and—"

"She's out by the front door. I'm not sure if Dad's let her in yet."

Without another word, Hermione ran down the stairs, attempting three at a time and barely succeeding, and screeched to a halt at the front door, breathing hard.

"Ah, Hermione," Mr. Bertram said calmly, turning from the front door to acknowledge her. Padma turned to look at her too, eyes slightly wet, trying to smile.

"Dad. Cho—told me—where's she?"

"Here by the front door."

"Let me—" Hermione refrained from completely shoving her father out of the way, and squeezed next to him to get a look at Lavender.

Who was looking extremely, _extremely_ happy.

"Lavender, you air-headed little—!" Hermione whacked at her sister, causing the bubbly girl to lose the smile on her face rather quickly.

"Hermione, you're hurting me!"

"I meant to do that, idiot. Where have you been? And where's—Zabini—"

Hermione looked over Lavender's shoulder, and saw Zabini standing a ways off, watching them closely.

"Zabini agreed to come home with me and visit you guys. Where's Mom?"

"Right here," Mrs. Bertram huffed as she rushed into the scene, pulling on a bathrobe over her pajamas. "Lavender, oh, Lavender—" Mrs. Bertram stuttered as she caught hold of her daughter's face in her hands.

"Mommy, I'm going to marry Zabini!" Lavender said brightly. Hermione remembered an instance in the past when Lavender, then six, said the same thing, only about some famous actor she'd seen in a commercial.

"What? Lavender, don't joke—"

"No, I really am!" Lavender took off a snow glove to show them her engagement ring.

Everyone gawked.

"Zabini, get over here," Hermione said, looking up at the young man sulking nearby.

Zabini walked over without any hassle, surprisingly.

"Why are you and my sister engaged?"

"I asked her to marry me, and she said yes. The wedding's next month, at my aunt's," Zabini said coolly, as if it happened to him every other day.

"Your aunt's?" Hermione echoed, eyes widening. "Wait. Wasn't Malfoy—um—"

Zabini looked confused. "Malfoy? What about him?"

Lavender, beside them, looked up from her ring.

"Nothing," Hermione said quickly. "I just thought—nevermind."

Zabini looked at her strangely. "Okay, then."

Mr. Bertram's face was dark. "Lavender, let me make something abundantly clear to you. If you marry this man, we can't protect you from whatever happens. You leave with him, you must say goodbye to us."

Everyone was silent.

Lavender nodded, haltingly, as if not entirely sure of her choice.

"And you, Zabini. You'd better take care of my daughter, or one of us—at least—will come after you."

"Sure, sure."

"Now that we're clear on that, you may come inside."

-o-o-

Dinner was an awkward, nearly-silent occasion, that everyone seemed happy to get out of. When the dishes were washed, Hermione plodded up the stairs to see if Lavender needed any help packing her belongings.

Hermione got to Lavender's room, walked in, and looked around. Zabini nowhere in sight, Hermione relaxed a little.

"So, Lavender," Hermione said, and jumped when Lavender squealed.

"Hermione! I didn't hear you come in."

"Well. Here I am. D'you need any help deciding what to pack?"

"Oh yes. Don't I always?"

"…Yup." Hermione kneeled by her sister on the floor, staring at the piles of clothes that awaited sorting.

"Um, so. How is Zabini?"

"Blaise is amazing! And adorable. And funny! And rich, though I can't say I know exactly what it is he does for a living," Lavender said.

Hermione looked at her, incredulous. "You don't know what his job is, and yet he's rich? That doesn't make you worry?"

"Not really, no. I think he's in some sort of medical business. Lawyer, of sorts."

"Oh." Hermione remembered seeing him at McGonagall's office.

"Well, anyway. He's really nice. I don't see why you're so cold to him."

"Well, Malfoy—" Hermione almost let slip the Malfoy-Zabini situation.

"Malfoy what? Have you been seeing Draco lately?"

"No!...Well, yes."

"Reeeally?"

"Yeah. It was actually to look for you. He and Zabini are apparently…erm…acquaintances."

"Oh! So that's why he was—there—" Lavender's face turned bright pink as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Why he was where?"

"He came to where Blaise and I were staying." Lavender sounded immensely guilty.

"He did? You mean Zabini's aunt's place?"

"What? How did you know?"

"I called him only yesterday, to ask if he knew where you could be. He said he visited Zabini's aunt's place, and hadn't found the two of you…did you guys already leave by, say, seven-ish last night?"

"No, we only left this morning. We actually…um, Draco was…I saw him. At Blaise's aunt's house. We met with him, actually." Lavender slapped a hand to her cheek. "Augh, I can't believe I let that slip…"

"What? Let what slip?" Hermione stared at her sister intently.

"Draco asked me not to tell you that he…um, he sort of convinced us to come back and see you guys."

"What?"

"And he offered to pay for the marriage arrangements. And the rings. Both the engagement one and the marriage ones."

"_What_?"

"Well, Blaise seemed to want to marry me when we went out that first day, but he never proposed, and I was getting scared that he'd just led me away from home for nothing. But when Draco came and when I told him—by accident!—that I was afraid Blaise wasn't going to marry me after all, he—…"

"He paid for everything."

"Yeah."

"And he got you guys to come home."

"…Yeah."

"Where is he now?"

"I'm not sure. Yesterday, by five-thirty, he'd already left us."

"…Oh my God." Hermione buried her face into her hands, completely miserable. _How could I have…? Why didn't he…?_

"Hermione? Are you okay?"

"No. Not at all."

-o-o-

Hermione furiously dialed on her cell phone.

"Hello?"

"Malfoy. Draco."

"…Um, is this Hermione?"

"Yes."

"Oh. H—"

"Do not say anything, and do _not_ interrupt."

"U-um. Okay…?"

"Why did you lie to me yesterday? Why didn't you tell me you'd found Lavender? Why—?"

"Whoa, whoa. What are you talking about?"

"Malfoy. Do _not_ lie to me. Lavender just told me, and—"

"Lavender told you? Ah, crap, I told her not to—"

"I know you did. She got really pink and said you'd asked her to keep it a secret—"

"You weren't—aagh." Hermione could hear Draco clapping a hand to his forehead.

"I wasn't what? I wasn't supposed to know? And why not?"

"Just—you didn't—tell Lavender, right? About Zabini. About the past."

"Yes, Malfoy. Yes I did. I opened my mouth like the idiot I'm not and told her everything."

"…That's sarcasm, right?"

"For Christ's—yes! Just—why didn't you tell me?"

"Personal reasons."

"You didn't tell me that my sister was all right and okay when I coughed up the nerve to ask Harry for your phone number and then call you and then—"

"All right, fine. But this will sound really arrogant."

"I don't care."

"I just…how do I say this? Um…I'm too…um…"

"Shy?"

"...Yeah."

Pause.

"I told you it would sound arrogant," Draco said, sounding tired.

"No, it doesn't. Not at all, in fact. It's just…you really hate the limelight that much?"

"Yes I do."

"All right. So I'm guessing that unless Lavender spills the beans to anyone else, I shouldn't talk about it either?"

"Please?"

"All right. Fine. You're just making it harder and harder for me."

"What? How is anything getting harder? Your sister's alive and okay and engaged! She's—"

"No, it's not that." Hermione sighed. "This will sound really pathetic."

"Hey, at least it won't sound arrogant."

Hermione let out a high, nervous laugh. "Um. Now that you've found my sister…on top of everything else you've done for me…"

"What? Like what?"

"Um, dealing with my aunt and uncle, and my sister, and Harry and Cho, and—most of all—dealing with me and my assumptions."

"You and your—what are you talking about?"

"I was a complete idiot about Zabini. I didn't know what I was talking about at all, and I just assumed that he was telling the truth and that you—you—"

"I understand. I don't hold anything against you."

"And on top of that, when you asked me to—er, date you—I—um—"

"I think it's easier for both of us if we just don't talk about that."

"Right." Hermione felt even worse.

Draco's voice lowered. "Listen, um, I'm kind of driving right now—"

"Oh! Sorry!"

"No, I'm glad you called me. Just saying, you should probably expect yet another visitor within the next few days."

"What? Another—how do you suppose we'll put up with _another_ guest?"

"It's all right. You'll forgive me for this one, promise."

"But—…"

"Okay?"

"Yeah. And—I'm sorry. I know how inadequate that sounds, but—"

"It's more than adequate."

Pause.

"All right, then," Draco said with a deep breath.

"Um. Yeah. Safe driving?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then. Um. Bye."

"See you."

Hermione hung up before she could say anything more stupid.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: So I found this amazing tool in my account called "Traffic Stats." And I found that waaay more people read my story than I thought, through review counts. Which means SOME OF YOU AREN'T REVIEWING D:

Speaking of reviews, yet another love note to **MegAnne Cormack **:D

Off to chapter 10.

-Sanded Silk-


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N**: Chapter 10! Um, also the last chapter… 8O Sorry, didn't give much of a heads up.

And I know I've been a real jerk at uploading recently, school only just ended and the summer homework is flooding my brain and making itself at home. D:

Anyways, enjoy! Again, this is it.

**Disclaimer**: I've run out of ways to shorten "not mine," so I'm just stating—in a disappointingly normal way—that I don't own anything.

-Sanded Silk-

* * *

><p>It was early morning. Lavender and Zabini had just left, and the house was quiet and thoughtful.<p>

All of which was promptly shattered by a harried knock on the door.

Hermione cracked open an eye, too tired to get up from her sprawled position on the living room sofa.

The knock came again.

Sighing with frustration and grumbling about stupid newspaper boys, Hermione got up and slipped her feet into her slippers, before realizing she'd switched them. The person at the door knocked again, quickly, hard. Cursing, Hermione kicked off her slippers and stalked, barefoot, to the front door.

When she threw it open, her jaw dropped.

"Ha…Ha…"

"Hi, Hermione," Harry said, smiling.

"Ha…rry." _Expect another visitor…_

"Yup, it's me again. Listen, um…is Cho home, by any chance?"

"Cho…" Hermione blinked, then turned her head. "Cho! Someone to see you," she yelled.

Cho was at the door within moments, yawning, hair mussed. "Honestly, who could be this—early—er—" Her eyes widened at the sight of Harry.

Pause.

"Harry?" Cho said, regaining control over her mouth.

"Hi," Harry said.

Another pause.

"Oh! Um, come in! Please. It's cold outside," Cho said, her voice gone high and squeaky. Hermione moved aside robotically as Harry stepped in, smiling and nodding and thanking Cho.

As Hermione was about to close the door, she took another glance outside—and saw Draco, standing on the sidewalk a ways off, watching. When he saw her look over, he smiled, squinting against the biting cold wind, pale hair blowing limply across his forehead and catching the glare of the weak winter sun.

Hermione stared for a minute. Then, regaining her senses, she waved him over.

"Want to come inside?" She asked when he came within earshot. She could see the bags under his eyes, but his face was relaxed.

He shook his head no. "Harry is just dropping by. I'll be helping him settle back down in his house here, and then I'll be leaving for McGonagall's."

"…Leaving?"

"Yeah. Pretty soon, I suspect."

"Soon? How soon?"

"Probably by evening today."

Oh. "So soon."

Draco smiled a small, almost-invisible smile, and tilted his head to see around Hermione. She turned around, saw Cho and Harry standing together with their faces close and their cheeks blushing red, and turned back around abruptly. Draco was looking away.

After a moment of awkward silence, Harry brushed past Hermione, turned back around to smile at Cho and thank Hermione, and left with Draco, walking quickly.

"Sooo, what was that all about?" Hermione said teasingly, turning around with a mischievous grin.

"Hm?" Cho said dreamily, staring after Harry.

"…Nevermind."

-o-o-

Later that afternoon, there was another knock on the door, which Hermione let Cho answer. Mrs. Bertram hurried to the door, and watched, flabbergasted, as Harry escorted Cho out of the house.

"Wait," Mrs. Bertram stuttered, turning around to the rest of her family and pointing after the happy couple. "When did they…? When did Harry…?"

"Oh. Earlier this morning, Harry came and visited. I guess he's done unpacking at his house now, and—"

"U-U-Un-p-pa—" Mrs. Bertram sat down hard in a nearby chair.

"Earlier this morning? I don't remember hearing anyone at the door," Mr. Bertram said thoughtfully.

"Yeah. It was pretty early when he came by," Hermione nodded.

"Wait, so they're…?" Padma trailed off, looking at Hermione with wide eyes.

"Together? Yeah, I guess so," Hermione said, nodding and smiling, trying not to think about Draco leaving. Trying not to—

She had the sudden urge to run to her room.

-o-o-

The next day brought Harry, who was dragging Draco, back to the Bertram house.

Mrs. Bertram, Mr. Bertram, and Padma sat in the living room, conspiring with each other in low tones, while Harry and Cho stood off to the side, nearly in the adjacent room, also talking in low voices. Which left Hermione alone with Draco.

Hermione sat by him on the other end of the living room, awkwardly. For a long time, they sat at opposite ends of the sofa, not talking to each other.

"So. Lavender's all right?" Draco said after a long, long silence.

"Yeah. Um, she's doing well, I guess. Zabini seems…I don't know what to say about him. He seemed all right in front of my family, anyway."

"Of course."

Silence.

"Um. So. How're you?" Hermione said, forcing herself to make eye contact. There were no cheesy sparks or flashy epiphanies, only unfathomable oceans of mellowed grey.

"Well. Now that everything seems to be sorted out, I'll be on my way soon."

"You said that yesterday," Hermione remarked, smiling.

"Yeah, well, that didn't quite work out. Some other stuff had to be sorted out, and then Harry wanted me to stay another night because he didn't want me driving around so much…" Draco trailed off, waving a bony hand around, smiling wearily. He always seemed weary. Hermione wanted to reach over and smooth out the bags under his eyes.

"Are you sure nothing else is up? You look rather dead."

"No, I'm fine. I just seem to always be like this," Draco mumbled, running a long-fingered hand through his fine hair.

Silence.

"Um, about Zabini," Hermione said, wincing at the sound of his name coming from her own mouth.

"Yes?"

"Do you think Lavender will be all right with him?"

Draco looked at Hermione quizzically. "I don't know. I don't think I can ever be sure with him. But…he seemed to like her, if not only because she clings to his every word and smiles at everything he does and fawns on him like he's—er—" Draco stopped, looking sheepish.

"Oh, no, it's okay. Please keep going, actually. Lavender wasn't too open with me about their relationship. And I know Lav, well enough to not be offended when someone else describes her honestly."

"Oh," Draco said. "Well, in all honesty, I think they'll be fine. Come to think of it, I don't remember Zabini ever actually consider settling down with a woman. I mean, he had girlfriends, of course. Several of them. But he never took anything seriously with them."

"And yet he chose to marry _Lavender_?"

"What's wrong with her?"

"All that air-headedness you were mentioning just now! I mean, she's the stereotypical teen cheerleader from your average love comedy. Anyone who will marry her must be doing so for some other less-ostensible reason."

"Hermione!" Mrs. Bertram scolded form across the room.

"Sorry," Hermione mumbled.

"Well," Draco said more quietly, "from what I could see, she truly liked Zabini. Truly. Not just for his lawyer job, or for his looks. I think she did like something less superficial about him. As for Zabini's feelings toward her…of course, he wasn't too open with me on that. But he didn't show signs of hesitation either."

"So he just…accepted the engagement, like it meant nothing to him?"

"It wasn't quite that either. This is kind of hard to explain. Um…he seemed to feel indifferent towards the engagement, but there were little things I noticed. You know. Glances. Smiles. Things he hadn't done for other women before."

"Really?" Despite her overall dislike for Lavender, Hermione felt relieved that her sister hadn't landed herself in some sort of potentially-abusive relationship. At least, so it seemed.

"Yeah." Draco smiled, which Hermione whole-heartedly returned.

Silence.

"You're leaving tonight, then?" Hermione said.

Draco nodded.

"What are you leaving to do?"

"You know. Work, see McGonagall about some other case involving surgical ethics."

"That actually sounds interesting."

"Believe me, it's not. Especially when you're talking about it with _McGonagall_."

"Ah. Touché."

Draco smiled, leaning his head back against the sofa and closing his eyes. Hermione pulled up her knees to her chin, and stared openly at his face, the frown lines smoothed out (more or less), the long blond lashes resting against the high bony cheeks.

"So," Draco said with his eyes closed. "Everything okay now?"

Hermione didn't answer for a second, stared at his face for a little longer. When he opened his eyes, concerned at her silence, she quickly looked away.

"Yeah, I guess," Hermione said, studying the snowy scenery outside a nearby window. Draco nodded, and closed his eyes again.

"Sorry, I'm not trying to blow you off or anything," he said, eyes still closed. "I'm just…tired."

"You look like it," Hermione said quietly. With his eyes closed and his frown lines smoothed out and his eyelashes brushing his cheeks, ever so slightly, he looked…peaceful? Harmless? Adorable?

"So how long will you be staying here?" Cho asked Harry, as they stood in the doorway.

"Well, now that we've smoothed things over, I was wondering if we could…um…"

Cho nodded, smiling shyly. Harry ducked his head, a mop of unruly black hair falling over his forehead.

Cho then bit her lip. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah?"

"Why did you leave?"

Harry's smile slowly slipped from his face. He looked away.

"It was because I thought you weren't interested in me. I was afraid that I was…forcing my attentions onto you."

"You thought I wasn't interested?" Cho said, barely above a whisper. She couldn't believe it. All those times, when she'd secretly confided to Hermione just how much she really liked Harry, just how much she loved his quick laugh and green eyes and strange, round glasses…

"Draco actually got me to come back. He said maybe I was a little hasty in judging."

"Really? So it's Draco I should be thanking?" Cho said playfully, smiling. She glanced over at Draco, where he was sitting with Hermione, then quickly turned Harry around by the shoulders so that he could see them too.

Draco was leaning back against the sofa, legs stretched out, eyes closed, head lolling in Hermione's direction. Hermione was leaning against the sofa, knees tucked under her chin, staring at Draco intently. After a moment, she slowly closed her eyes as well, and the two stayed in that position, quiet, close.

-o-o-

Cho popped into Hermione's room after Hermione had changed into her pajamas for the night.

"Sooo. You and Draco, huh?"

Hermione glared over at Cho, then sighed. "I don't know. I think he's still mad at me."

"For what?"

"Um…I didn't tell anyone about this yet, so you better promise not to say anything."

"I promise."

"Okay," Hermione sighed. "A few days ago, Draco asked…asked me out. But I said no, because I believed everything Zabini told me about him."

"…Oh."

"And I refused him pretty brutally, and he left. Then, on the Falls Park trip with Aunt and Uncle, we visited their property—but only because they'd said Draco wasn't home!—and we met his sister, and he was there too, and we hung out for awhile. But then you called us about Lavender going missing, so we rushed home. But before we came home, I talked to Ginny about Zabini, and she told me that…well, that Zabini had lied to us, basically. He's…actually a pretty big jerk. At least, he was. He's done some…ungrateful…stuff."

Cho was frowning.

"But I don't think there's any reason to worry about Lavender being with Zabini now, because when I was talking to Draco this afternoon, he said that Zabini seemed nice enough to Lavender, and interested enough to actually keep her around."

"Wait, Draco talked to Zabini?"

Hermione's heart sank. "Oh crap. Don't tell anyone about this, okay?"

"I know. This conversation never happened."

"Okay. Um. Draco kind of found Zabini and Lavender, at Zabini's aunt's place, and persuaded them to get married and to come back and visit us."

"…Draco? He did?"

"Yeah. Lavender spilled the beans to me. Apparently he paid for all expenses as well. The rings, probably some ridiculous arrangements that Lav had in mind..."

"Why can't I tell anyone about this? I mean, Draco did a huge favor for us."

"He's…too…shy about it."

"…Too shy?"

"Yeah. He hates the limelight."

Cho smirked behind her hand. "Seriously? He wouldn't let you tell anyone because he was too _shy_?"

"Shhh, yes! Don't tell anyone."

"I won't, I won't. But seriously. Draco was a lot more of a giant teddy bear than I thought he was. Remember how he came to the Wickersons' party all somber and reclusive? Reclusive snothead?" Cho began to laugh.

"Yes, I remember. How can't I? Aagh, this is embarrassing," Hermione mumbled, burying her face into her hands.

"Well?" Cho said after she stopped laughing.

"Well what?"

"Well, what are you going to do about all this?"

"About what?"

"Draco likes you, Hermione. A lot, seeing as he's still talking to you after the whole Zabini misunderstanding."

"Trust you to call this a 'misunderstanding,'" Hermione grumbled.

"I'm being serious."

"No you're not."

"…Okay, you're right. But still. You've got to go after Draco, before he ends up with some other girl."

"But I don't know how," Hermione burst out. She'd been wrestling with this for days. "I don't know how to tell him that I'm sorry and that I would like to go out with him—it would be so awkward, and it would make both of us so _uncomfortable_—"

"But you have to. You know that."

"I know that I have to, but I don't know_ how_—"

The doorbell rang.

"Augh! I'm in my pajamas!" Both Hermione and Cho cried.

"Um…um…" Hermione ran back and forth in her room, trying to figure what to do. Greeting someone in your pajamas…

Mr. Bertram answered the door. Both girls held their breaths.

"Hermione?" Mr. Bertram called.

"Y-Yes?" Hermione answered, her voice gone high.

"Someone here to see you."

"O-Okay." Hermione took a deep breath and stumbled down the stairs. When she peered at the front door from around the railing, she saw—

Minerva McGonagall.

"Ms. McGonagall?" Hermione said uncertainly. Minerva nodded wordlessly, lips tight, and walked into the front hall without explicitly asking to do so. Behind her stood Draco, looking grim.

"Dr-Draco?"

He nodded at her, despite the nervousness in his eyes, and smiled.

"Mr. Bertram, I'd like a moment alone with Hermione," Minerva said frostily, without looking away from Hermione. Mr. Bertram nodded, unfazed, and left the front hall into the living room, closing the door behind him. Cho wisely stayed upstairs.

"Hermione."

"Yes?"

"I presume you know my nephew, Draco?"

"Um, yes. We acknowledged each other at my grandfather's house—"

"Let me make something clear to you."

"Okay?"

"Do not interrupt."

"Okay…?"

Hermione, suddenly feeling very inadequate in her pajamas and uncombed hair, looked quizzically at Draco. To her utter surprise, he refused to look her in the eye.

"My Draco is of higher standing than you and your family in every way. He is a medical student working for his Masters degree, and is educated in the law as well as any law student. No matter what you think—what he might make you think—you will never end up with him."

Hermione was stunned.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said quietly, "could you tell me what this is all about?"

"Draco hinted to me that the two of you have some sort of…of relationship."

"Of friendship, yes."

"Don't be smart with me, young lady," Minerva snapped. "I know a young lady in love when I see one."

"…_Love_?" Even in her private thoughts, Hermione avoided that word. She wasn't sure of her own heart; she wasn't sure if she could reliably tell Love from ordinary Like.

"What I came here to tell you is that Draco is engaged—he has been since birth, actually—to my good friend's daughter, from the Greengrass family. I don't suppose you're familiar with Ms. Astoria Greengrass?"

Ms. Astoria Greengrass. It sounded so repugnantly aristocratic. "No, I'm not," Hermione said quietly.

"Well. Now you are. Let me ask you one more thing—"

"Yes?"

Ms. McGonagall glared. "During the course of your…'friendship'…with my nephew, did he ever approach you romantically?"

"What a strange way you put it," Hermione said, smiling dryly. "And…and no, he did not." Hermione's head spun with the lie, though she managed to keep her lips smirking. She could feel the astonishment wearing off, and the anger setting in.

"You'd better be telling the truth, because—"

"Because what?" Hermione's smirk dropped from her face.

"Because your grandfather will never accept your family for the way it is. Did you believe Neville when he came over to your house, saying that your grandfather was ready for reconciliation? Did you believe for a moment that someone as rich as your grandfather would care about his shameful son?"

"I did not, I assure you," Hermione said, smiling coldly. Although she had hoped. "And what does this have to do with why I should tell you the truth?"

"You selfish girl," Minerva spat, seemingly more out of emotion than reason. "Know that if you were to fight for Draco in any way, you will have no one to back you up. No one. Astoria Greengrass will win out over you in every aspect. No matter whether or not you wish to show me the respect you owe me by telling the truth or not, you cannot escape the inferiority of your status."

"Oh, don't worry, I didn't mean to fight for your precious nephew from the start," Hermione bit back. "How could you have believed for a moment that I would want to associate myself with the likes of you? Rich, arrogant, self-entitled, unable to see anything beyond your hawkish little noses. Perhaps, before I met you, I was interested in Draco. But when I met you, you and my grandfather, I knew that I could never force myself to marry into your group, to shame my father in such a way."

Hermione's face was hot. Her heart was rising steadily in her chest, and she was having a hard time preventing it from choking her. Moreover, the look of astonishment—and hurt—in Draco's face was hard to stomach. But when Hermione saw the white-lipped anger and embarrassment in Minerva's face, Hermione felt a rush of adrenaline-powered triumph.

Hermione strode to the door and opened it, swinging it wide. "You have embarrassed my family and myself in every way possible. Please leave. Now."

There was a long, agonizing silence. Finally, Minerva huffed, gathered her coat about her, and swept out of the room.

"Never have I been treated thus in my life," Minerva hissed as she left.

"Yeah? Well, never have I seen a lady of class behave like a spoiled five-year-old," Hermione yelled after her.

Hermione stood there, panting and staring at Minerva's receding back. With a sigh, she turned to close the door, feeling a vicious trembling beginning to take hold of her limbs—and then remembered that Draco was still standing there. She looked up quickly at his face, and saw that it was darkened with confusion and hurt.

"Did you mean it?" He asked quietly.

"Which part? Some parts I just sort of…" Hermione trailed off.

"You said you wouldn't associate yourself with me, because of my—"

"Draco," Hermione sighed. "It's true, your family and my grandfather are rich jerks. But you're an exception. You and Harry both."

Hermione's fingers got tangled in her hair in her distress.

"Regardless of what I said to your aunt just now," she continued, attempting to disentangle her fingers, "I do like you, Draco. A lot. Enough to ignore whatever your aunt might have to say about it. Agh, this sounds really cheesy and pathetic, but I'm—uuugh."

Hermione felt her face turning steadily red, and quickly turned her face from Draco.

There was an awkward pause.

"All I want to know," Draco said quietly, "is whether you'd say yes or not if I asked you to date me."

Hermione threw up her face and laughed a strained, borderline-maniacal laugh, still turned away from Draco. "Whether I'd date you or not? Whether I'd—? With everything you've done—for Cho, Lav—for me—you have no idea—_no idea_—how much I regret treating you so cruelly that day. I wish—it must sound bad, me saying I like you because of what you did for me, not because of—something deeper—_God_, when I refused you that day, I knew so little about you. I made so many presumptions that are embarrassing for me to think about now. I wish I hadn't—waited until you did these things for me before I changed my mind—I wish I had been more careful—oh, I don't know. Yes. My answer is yes. Over and over again—"

Draco spun her around and pressed her against the door frame, engulfing her in a tight hug.

"Oh," was all she could manage.

""I was an arrogant idiot too, if you forgot," Draco said, his voice lost in her hair. "I called you dull before I knew you."

"That's nothing compared to—" Hermione broke off, the lack of air forcing her to focus her efforts on freeing her nose.

"I meant to say—oh." Hermione swallowed nervously. "Um, your aunt is headed this way—"

"Shut up. Just shut up for a second."

"Okay."

Minerva high-volume protests slowly faded out of Hermione's consciousness as Draco pressed long fingers into her hair, pushed his chin against her temple. She struggled to gain a little more footing, to not topple over and bring Draco down with her, and in doing so stepped on his toe, and he grunted, and she might have said "sorry," and he pressed his cheek against her hair, holding her close to him, instantly forgetting the pain.

Someone started cheering. Hermione turned her head with some difficulty—Draco wasn't allowing her much movement—and saw Cho standing at the bottom of the stairs with Mr. Bertram, laughing and clapping. Somewhere in the mess, Minerva stormed off, still yelling insanities. Somewhere in the mess, Harry appeared, confused. And somewhere in the mess, Draco tilted his face down, and Hermione leaned her head back, and they kissed.

-o-o-

"Your parents were very kind to let me stay this late," Draco said later that night, sprawled across the largest sofa in the living room. Hermione was sitting beside him, her backside squished onto a small patch of open sofa space.

"Did you try calling your aunt? Or anyone, really?" She asked him. He shook his head no, lazily. With his eyes half-closed and a small smile on his face, he looked really, truly relaxed.

"Didn't think so," Hermione said, grinning. He shrugged.

"Um…so," Hermione said after a beat, "I know this is cheesy and all, but tell me what you like about me?"

Draco's smile widened. He shifted his arm, which was cushioning his head.

"Your hair, for one thing."

"What? My hair?"

"Definitely. Every other girl with hair like yours tries to straighten it, but you don't bother. I think it looks good, actually. I don't get why girls try to straighten their hair all the time."

Hermione put a hand to her hair, suddenly self-conscious.

"And I like the way you handle stressful situations. Like that time when your grandfather asked you to play the piano, and you just sat there and played something random and said it was by Bernini."

"And you know who Bernini really was, right?"

"The Baroque sculptor? Yup."

Hermione smiled sheepishly. Her hands wandered from her hair to his hair, then to his cheeks, then to the bags under his eyes. She spread out her fingers, smoothing the dark circles, just the way she'd wanted to before.

"I never did say sorry," he said suddenly, "did I?"

Her fingers froze on his cheeks. "What? What for?"

"I judged your sister prematurely, without knowing her character, and I allowed things to get out of hand with my Aunt, to the point where she came here to harass you in the middle of the night." He frowned then, the contentedness slipping from his face.

Hermione frowned at him. "I will not let you apologize to me for those things when you have more than made up for them. And I judged you prematurely as well, so we're even on that point."

"Still, it doesn't excuse—"

"Stop talking. Just stop talking."

Draco reached his free hand up to his face, covered her hand with his. "You are too generous to overlook my mistakes."

"Don't you dare call me generous, or I will have to think that you are mocking me."

Draco closed his eyes and breathed a long, contented sigh.

"Do you think your parents would mind if I slept here?" He asked presently.

"I don't think so." Hermione shook her head no. She watched as the tension in his face, the tension that she could not remove with her words, melted slowly from his muscles, giving way at last to his exhaustion. She followed the disappearing layers of tension with her fingers, smoothing out the hairline wrinkles they left in their wake, wishing that he wouldn't take the burdens of others upon himself.

She suppressed an embarrassed groan then; to think that, at the beginning of their acquaintance, she was ready to accuse him of shunning the needs of even his closest friends and family!

"Well, then." Draco opened his eyes a crack to smile at her. "I think any minute now, I'll just black out."

Hermione piled her elbows on his chest and leaned her head down on her arms, smiling at him. "Go ahead. I'll just sit here and stare creepily at you."

Draco smiled, and closed his eyes. When Hermione was sure that he was sleeping, she gently laid her head across his chest, and peered over the top of the sofa to watch the first straggling snowflakes of a snowstorm flutter down from the sky.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: So it looks like this is the end.

Whoa, this is _really_ surreal. I'm done! With a story! Haven't accomplished that since forever. XP

Anyways, thanks to everyone (especially a certain someone who, at this point, doesn't have to be named anymore—everyone should know who I'm talking about) for your support! I hope to write another story soon. Once summer homework is out of the way and stupid science program is through the window.

Thanks again! Esp. **MegAnne Cormack**. I really enjoyed having your reviews to propel me through this entire shebang, really truly did.

Love you (all),

-Sanded Silk-


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